Born Again
by DawnTwilight
Summary: Dean is going out of his mind and Sam...Sam's just gone.
1. The Rapture

Title: Born Again

Author: Twilight

Feedback: Always welcome

Rated: PG-13

Summary: Dean is going out of his mind and Sam…Sam's just gone.

Notes: Parts of this story is based on a documentary I saw a year or so ago. The story is completely plotted and outlined and I began it before I saw many episodes into season five. I would say this takes place mid season five, somewhere before Abandon all Hope and then goes AU.

SNSNSNSN

Part One: The Rapture

"Damnit, Bobby." Dean spoke urgently into his cell, "where the hell can he be?"

Bobby's tinny voice came back over the line, _"I wish I knew, kid…I got the word out to everyone I trust, but that's really a crapshoot, plus the pickings are slim…You call your angel yet?" _

"I tried," Dean ran his hand up and over his tired eyes. He had been going non-stop for days with little sleep and running on adrenaline. The lumpy bed under his ass was really feeling good right about now. "I left a hundred messages, but the son of a bitch won't answer."

"_Well, ya know how I hate to be the voice of reason, but are you sure Sam just didn't take off?"_

He was almost ashamed to admit that the thought very briefly crossed his mind, but Sam had only been back with him for a few months and they already decided that they were better off together and deep down, Dean knew…Sam wouldn't bail on him.

"_I mean, he just found out the devil's literally in the details…might just need some space and it ain't like you too have been all sunshine and picnics."_

"No way, Bobby!" Dean jumped up, frustrated, but he didn't mean for his words to come out so defensive. He was hopping mad, but not at Bobby and not really at Sam either. His brother had disappeared four days ago, but Dean knew something or someone lured Sam or just plane took him.

He paced to the window and looked out at the darkness beyond for the hundredth time in as many minutes, hoping to see his brother in the parking lot, a bag of burgers in his hand. But he saw nothing and could hear Bobby breathing on the other end of the line and knew the man was giving him a chance to get his emotions under control. "Besides, I'm more worried about who or what took Sam…it's the only thing that tracks, Bobby. It's like he just fell off the face of the freaking earth."

The old man was moving around in his chair. Dean could hear the wheels rolling and then something metallic clanking together. _"I should be there…"_

"No, Bobby," it wasn't that he didn't want Bobby to come. "I really need you working your contacts, looking for any patterns."

"_Dean…"_

"Listen, I'm staying put for awhile longer…I don't feel right about leaving the motel just yet." Dean really wanted to get out there and take a better look…but he couldn't bring himself to leave the last place he and Sam were together. Besides, he had some more people to question. "And then-" when he turned he nearly ran into a solid wall wearing a trench coat. "Holy hell!"

"_What? Dean!"_

"What the hell did I tell you about that, Cas…it's Cas, Bobby…I'll call ya back." He heard the man telling him he better be sure he did before he snapped the phone shut. "Where the hell you been?"

"I came as soon as I could, Dean." The angel stumbled to the bed and plopped down. "I've been busy, you know."

Dean didn't give a rat's ass about what Cas had been up to, his mission to find God, or whatever.

Jesus, they had been busy killing evil, dodging demons and angels too and Cas had been out on a fools mission.

From the look of him, it didn't look like the hunt was going good.

"So, do you know…"

"I do not," Cas told him, before he could even get his whole question out. "You know I can not see your brother, so I do not know how you think I am even going to be of help."

If he didn't think punching the bastard would break his hand, Dean would haul off and lay good one on the angel of the Lord.

"Listen, I get your looking for your daddy and all, but my brother is missing. We got all the heavenly host looking for us both and the bad guys want Sam in a bad way, so excuse me if I can't care about where your God might be."

"Dean…"

"No, you don't get it…I don't care, Cas. The only thing I care about is missing, so forget your search and help me!"

"Okay."

Just like that…"Okay?"

"Yes, Dean, okay. I will help you on what I can and still continue my own search. Tell me what happened." Cas straightened up on the bed and waited for Dean to flop down on the bed across from him.

They sat looking at each other for a beat or two so that Dean could get his thoughts together. The days were starting to blur together. "Okay, so on Wednesday…no, Tuesday we had just finished a hunt, nothing major for once…just a haunting. This guy fell from a ladder, while doing some work on his house and next thing ya know a bunch of men in town showed up dead. They all connected back to the dude some how."

Was that crap even important?

They salted and burned the sucker, but not before he took out a slew of his cheating wife's lovers. Seems the guy came home early and decided to fix the siding on the house near his bedroom window. Fell off when he saw his wife doing the bump and grind with some other dude. Turned out the misses had a few other guys on the side too.

But they had left that place and just drove…not really heading anywhere and ended up in a small town in Wisconsin. He had checked, made a few calls, talked to the wife again, but no one had seen Sam.

"Dean, I can not read your mind anymore."

He nearly jumped, zoning on his thoughts and forgetting he was suppose to be giving Cas the details. He was tired, really tired but also knew that sleep would be a memory until he found his brother.

"Right, sorry…anyway we drove and ended up…well, here…where ever here is."

"Wisconsin." Cas supplied and Dean was going to give him hell, but the angel looked so genuine.

"Right…so the next day…Wednesday, after we cleaned up and rested some, we decided to look for a new hunt, but we didn't find much." Dean glanced at the local and national news papers still spread across the little table in the kitchenette and the laptop that still had the pages that Sam had been searching up and open. "Sam was getting…cagey, so he decided to go on a dinner run…I guess I was more tired then I thought, cause I drifted off to sleep before he got back."

"So he did come back?"

He couldn't help the flush of his skin, the mini heat wave as the answered, because it was his fault he took a nap while Sam was being abducted by God only knew what. "No ah…by the time I woke up it was maybe an hour later. I ah, took a shower, not thinking much of the fact that Sam wasn't here. I figured he was having a beer or something…he does that sometimes."

"Does Sam often consume alcohol while he is supposed to be getting dinner?"

"What? No, no…just sometimes the kid needs a break." _From reality_, he silently added. "Anyway I gave it some more time and then I got a little worried, so I waited a little more."

"If you were worried, why did you wait?"

Cas' question made him break out in a cold sweat, because he had been asking himself, kicking himself for not calling earlier. Even if Sam's phone had gone to voicemail, he would have a better time frame.

"It's just…guys don't do that…I just thought he needed some time to himself." Because Sam was looking a little worn around the edges, a little beat down and then there was the fact that Satan wanted his meat. "I thought I'd give him another hour and then I called. The phone must have been off because it went right to voice mail." Which meant that the cell company couldn't track it either, because that was one of the first things Dean had tried when he realized his brother was in trouble.

"It took another hour, after leaving a few messages on his voice mail before I decided I needed to go out looking for him and really, I thought I would find him in some dive, drunk off his ass, but when I got to the parking lot I forgot that Sam had taken the car."

"Then how did you transverse the roads?"

He hadn't realized that he wasn't looking at the angel until the word transverse cam out of Cas' mouth. "Really?"

"What?" and he couldn't help the small smile that slipped, because he could swear that sometimes Cas just said shit like that to get a rise outta him.

"Anyway, eventually I boosted an old Ford from a few streets over and cruised all the bars I could find. No one had seen him. It was too late for most places to be open, but I tried the coffee shop and a bookstore chain…but I came up empty. I was outta ideas, so I just cruised the streets, looking for the Impala, but I didn't find anything. It was after two in the morning when I found a minimart to get gas. It was on the edge of town, off the interstate and on a lark I asked the cashier if she had seen Sam and was floored when she said he was in earlier, she put the time about half an hour after he had left."

"Did the vehicle need gas?"

"No, not really. We had about a quarter of a tank and the girl said that she wasn't sure if he was even going to get gas. He came in and headed to the back to get a bottle of water and then doubled around to pick up…" he was a little surprised when a lump lodged itself in his throat and he needed to swallow before he could get out the word, "pie."

The angel canted his head and his bright, blue eyes seemed to bore into him, but Dean shook his head and cleared his throat. "She ah…she said he put the stuff on the counter and was about to say something when his phone rang. He excused himself to take the call and then he just walked out, leaving the stuff and getting into the car. He made a right outta the station and I followed that road for miles, but didn't see any sign of Sam or my car."

"Then how did it get outside in the parking lot?" Cas asked, looking toward the door to the dingy room.

"I looked up and down every road in the damn county. The sun was just coming up when I saw her. She was on the other end of town and facing back toward the motel. At first I thought maybe she had broken down and Sam had been forced to walk, although I didn't know what he might have been doing on that side of town, or why he didn't just call me…but when I got in her, she started right up.

I left the Ford and looked for signs that Sam was on foot. I spent most of the day looking at that road and a few adjoining, but I couldn't see anything that would make me think Sam was out there near the road. No tracks, no skid mark to indicate a car accident…It was almost evening by the time I came back to the motel hoping to see Sam sitting on the bed you are sitting on, but he wasn't here. I got a hold of Bobby and he pretended to be the Feds to get access to the surveillance tape at the mini mart and the traffic cams, but he only saw what the clerk had already confirmed and once Sam was through town, heading the other way on the road I found the car, Bobby lost traffic cameras, so we don't know why Sam turned back toward the motel."

"You mentioned Sam's phone."

"Yeah, I called the company pretending Sam was under aged and missing and got them to turn on the GPS. Turns out they couldn't find a signal and that his phone had been turned off shortly after he had gotten that call. Bobby called them later to get the number of whoever was calling, but the number is disconnected…or it never was."

"So you are thinking it's something supernatural then…"

He really didn't know. It was just damn weird. Why would Sam be at that gas station and not at the burger joint that he said he was going to pick dinner up at? And the burger place employees claimed never to have seen Sam.

Who was on the phone and what was it that got Sam to drop everything and head out in a hurry? Dean had seen the footage and his brother looked…worried. And with all these dead ends, how the hell was Dean gonna find him.

"I don't know, man…nowadays we are on everyone's hit list. That's why I need your help."

Cas stood suddenly and Dean wanted to kick himself for jerking. It was just that he was so tired.

"When was the last time you have slept?" and it was eerie, cause damn if Cas didn't hit the hammer on the head again. He had grabbed some cat naps when he could, but Red Bull and fear mostly kept him going day and night.

"You sure you aren't reading my mind?" he asked, knowing his reflexes and the question was a little slow.

The angel stood studying him before he answered. "You know I do not have all my powers, Dean."

And he wasn't sure if that was the answer to his last question or Cas' way of saying he didn't think he could help with the search for Sam.

"But I do know that you look like a strong wind would blow you up."

"Over," he said automatically.

"Over where?" Cas countered and instead of laughing Dean felt like maybe he could cry and that wasn't good, because Dean hated crying.

"I will help you," and when he looked up, cool fingers touched his head. For half a second he thought that Cas was taking him somewhere and then he was instantly pissed when he felt his body letting go and starting to slump to the side.

He was sound asleep before his head hit the mattress and didn't feel the angel picking up his feet and taking off his shoes or covering him with a blanket.

"But you need to rest first." Cas said, sitting back on Sam's unmade bed.

Dean didn't know that all through the night the angel watched him sleep, didn't know that Cas had taken any calls when his cell rang, didn't know that the angel had spoken to Bobby in the early morning.

But when he finally did wake up after three the next day he knew he was gonna punch the bastard whether it broke his hand or not.

TBC


	2. Wandering Through the Wilderness

Part Two: Wandering Through the Wilderness

Two freakin' weeks later and Dean had found absolutely nothing new on Sam's disappearance.

He looked around the hotel room one more time, hoping that he would spot something, anything that would give him a clue, another lead to follow, but the room looked the same as when they had checked in weeks before.

It was time to move on, but to Dean that meant defeat and he was torn between staying and leaving.

But Bobby was waiting for him.

The drive would take a few days and left him plenty of time to ponder what he might have missed, but that was the problem. He hadn't missed anything.

Over the past few weeks he had been a man on a mission, hacking into the local and surrounding police data bases to see if there was anyone matching Sam's description processed though the system.

And calling the hospital in town and the ones within a hundred mile radius every day, asking that the also check the morgue for any John Dows.

He revisited all the local shops and cafes, the coffee shop and book store, usually ending up at the bar before moving onto the corner dive off of Olsen and Richmond, passing around Sam's picture to anyone willing to look.

But the days ended all the same…no one had seen his brother, except the clerk the night Sam vanished.

Dean had Bobby do a background check on the kid and spent some days watching her, making sure she had nothing to do with Sam's disappearance, but she was just a normal, everyday kid, leading a normal, everyday life.

There was nothing sinister or supernatural about study groups and afternoon work hours or weekend dates with some pimpled face classmate.

It felt like failure when he finally closed the laptop, leaving up the pages Sam was using to research whatever he was researching…if he was researching anything at all. Bobby was gonna take a look, a set of fresh eyes might pick up something Dean had missed.

He scooped up the news papers and put them into a plastic grocery bag, planning on having Bobby look them over too and then he gathered his brothers shaving kit and pile of dirty clothes off the bathroom floor.

Back in the bedroom, he checked the dresser drawers and side table, grabbing anything that belonged to Sam and putting them in Sam's duffle.

Sam would need those things when he got back.

Grabbing both bags, he looked the room over once more before opening the door and crossing over the threshold. It hurt a little to leave, but he had to go.

He stopped for gas at the same station Sam was last seen, but the clerk wasn't on duty, she would still be in school.

He scanned the road leading out of town one more time, thinking that maybe, this time he would see some sign of Sam.

But the blacktop offered no new clues.

Soon the two way lane turned into a highway and before he realized, he was entering the interstate.

No back roads this time.

Bobby had a plan and Dean held onto that.

Bobby would help, find away, just like he always did.

"We would be there much faster…"

Dean turned the wheel hard, heart hammering in his chest.

"…if you would just let me transport you."

He quickly corrected his course amidst blaring horns and one finger salutes. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Cas?"

"Your heart is strong, Dean." The angel sat calmly next to him, but it didn't seem right.

That was where Sam sat.

"If ya say so…what the hell are you doing here anyway? I thought you said you'd be gone for a few days." He glanced Cas' way when he remained silent. "I see your search isn't going to well either."

"It's just a setback, Dean. I'll find what I'm looking for just as I'm assured you will find what you are looking for."

Before he could tell Cas that Sam was a who and not a what, Cas turned in the seat, reaching over for something in the back.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going ahead," he told Dean, holding Sam's laptop in its case and the bag of newspapers.

And then Cas was gone.

"Freakin' angels," he muttered, but knew that he wasn't good company and that any leg up would help.

It was almost two days later when he finally arrived at Bobby's. He drove as much as he could, only stopping for gas and gas station food, pulling over for cat naps that sometimes turned into hours of restless, but needed sleep.

Bobby met him at the door before he could even knock. "You okay, kid?"

He nodded, knowing that Bobby wasn't buying it, but let it slide. "You find anything?"

"Come inside and sit down before ya fall down."

He followed Bobby into the kitchen and sank down at the table, jerking a little when a cup of coffee was placed in front of him. He took a long drink, feeling the burn of strong liquor mixed with Maxwell house. "Mmm, thanks…so?"

The older man sighed, "I couldn't make much of the newspapers or websites...looks like Sam was just checking things out." But Bobby nodded toward the basement door and Dean stood to follow, taking his cup of coffee with him.

He hadn't noticed at first, but taking the steps down he realized his joints weren't as stiff and his jaw was aching, probably from clenching his teeth, but the mug was warm in his hands and the hot liquid warmed the chill inside a little too.

His body had relaxed as soon as he stepped into the kitchen, because deep down he knew he was at home and he would find help here.

"Picked you up a little something a while ago…can't make her talk though…" Bobby came off the steps and led him to the back room, where he found a devils trap and an old wooden chair, occupied by a pretty blond in a skimpy red dress.

"Where'd you find her?"

"At a cross roads," Bobby said from behind him, "conducting some nefarious business."

"Hear ya lost something." She said, eyes flashing red, and then melding into the girl's natural blue. "Or maybe he just ran off again."

"Who is she?" Dean asked, hands balling into fists.

"Bartender," Bobby answered. "Went missing a few weeks ago, saw the posting on the FBI database."

"What happened to your last meat suit?" Dean asked the thing, not really caring, but knowing that if he didn't play her game, he probably wouldn't get any real answers from her.

And right now, he desperately needed answers

"Got board…" the girls legs moved seductively, uncrossing and crossing again, the black pump slipping from her foot a little as she adjusted in her seat. The ropes holding her looked tight, her hands and fingers a paler shade then the rest of her skin and the top of her dress was damp, so he supposed that Bobby had already tried holy water.

There was no way of knowing how old or strong, how far up on the food chain the demon was.

But Dean had learned…some ways to persuade information and realized he was willing to use all the techniques he knew, regardless of the innocent girl, if it meant finding Sam.

His eyes scanned the back wall and Bobby's tools.

Then he turned away from her smug expression, back to Bobby. "Can you give me a few minutes…alone?"

Bobby nodded, but the look on his face said he didn't really want to go. "I'll be just in the den, waiting on your angel buddy…" he reluctantly turned and made his way up the steps. Dean could hear then creaking under Bobby's weight.

When the click of the lock on the door engaged, he turned toward the woman bound in front of him and smiled.

She didn't look so smug now.

TBC


	3. Can I Get a Witness?

Part Three: Can I get a Witness?

"I'm not too sure about this, Bobby." Dean said. He sat behind the wheel of the Impala, looking across the suburban street at the little, light blue, Cape Cod, his cell phone pressed close to his ear.

It was a nice day and a gentle breeze blew through the open window of the car.

Sounds of children playing on front lawns, and riding their bikes or tossing around a ball floated on the breeze and Dean was reminded of a more innocent time, in a similar house across town from this one.

"We both know she'll wanna help." Bobby told him, bringing Dean back to the here and now.

"Yeah," he agreed, "But people who help us have a tendency ending up dead."

Bobby grunted in agreement, but said. "I'm still kicking, kid…well you know what I mean."

And Dean did.

And that reminded him of his own involvement with Bobby being forced to sit in that damn wheel chair and it reminded him of Pamela too, which was why he was reluctant to walk across the street and knock on the front door.

"Look, Dean. The demon trails a bust and she's the next logical step, so get your ass outta the car and get in there."

Bobby was right and apparently reading his mind now. Sam's been gone for over two months and he didn't have the luxury of sitting on his ass.

"Speaking of…" Dean asked, because after they burned the corpse of the cross roads bitch, they had been collecting others. After working her over, he was sure she hadn't known anything, but that didn't mean that Hell wasn't behind Sam's disappearance, just that she wasn't privy to the plan.

"Got a delivery this morning, but got nothing from him."

"And Cas…"

"He didn't stay after dropping off the package."

Dean could tell from Bobby's tone that he wasn't thrilled with this little arrangement. Cas would collect and deliver other hell spawn sporadically, but Bobby was usually left with the clean up and Dean understood, the bodies they had been disposing of, they were people, innocent people, but right now Dean couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about that.

"How about…"

"I'm working my way through my library," and Dean could imagine Bobby sitting at his desk, a dusty tome open in front of him and a bottle of Jack at hand. "I got some acquaintances looking into some spell work that might help in locating Sam's body…I mean…his corporeal body…that didn't come out right, Dean…"

He sighed, but nodded and then said, "I know Bobby. I guess it's a good thing I never got around to unpacking Sam's duffle." Not that Dean felt he could go through his brother's stuff. "Hopefully you can find something in there with a speck of DNA."

"Yeah, I'm on it…now get in there before she comes a knocking on your window." Bobby hung up and Dean sighed again.

Enough with the stalling.

The car door creaked when he opened it and so did his knees, but he shook off the stiffness of driving straight through and crossed the street and then the lawn, but before he could knock the door swung open.

"Well, it's about time. I was beginning to think I was gonna have to come a collect you." She looked him up and down, her dark skin blending with the shadows beyond her in the foyer, but them she stepped back from the threshold, letting the morning sun shine into the small waiting area behind her. "Well…get in here, child. Let me get a good look at ya."

"Missouri," Dean said, letting her enclose him in her arms, feeling her soothing hands rub his back, like his mom used to do when he was young and scared or worried about something.

And for a second he thought about letting go.

Some days the fear and grief were so overwhelming, and the frustration about not being able to do anything…and it was tempting to just put down that burden, even if just for a little while.

But he just couldn't, because if he indulged, even for a minute, it would be like admitting defeat and there was no way he was going to give up on finding Sam.

He wasn't going to give up on his brother.

Dean stood back, literally shaking off his emotions. "I was hoping…"

"Come on, then." She said, taking his hand and guiding him through the waiting area and into the back rooms of her home.

They passed a table with two chairs, a few waxy candles snuffed, but Dean could still smell the fragrance from them, thinking she must have been sitting there not too long ago.

Through that room and down a hall, she led him into her bright, yellow kitchen where the table had been set for two. "Sit."

He sank to the worn, wooden seat as she poured tea into a glass of ice sitting in front of his plate and then she picked up a skillet and scooped out three sausage links and two over easy eggs.

Before he could say he wasn't hungry, the toaster popped and two slices of bread were quickly buttered and brought to the table on a little plate.

Despite his lack of appetite, his stomach rumbled.

"Eat up," she told him, starting to sit, but then diverting to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of hot sauce and sat it by Dean's plate. "And tell me about your brother."

At one time, he would have been skeptical about her claim to know things before he even voiced them, and even though he didn't know how she used her…gift…powers, whatever she called them, he knew that she could sense things, feel things deeply and he was desperate to believe that maybe she could feel Sam, out there somewhere.

A couple of times, in the deep of the night, when he was so exhausted that he had no choice but to sleep, he would dream of his brother.

Sam was always in the distance, in the shadows, his outline barely perceivable, but Dean somehow knew that the visage in his dream was his brother.

And no matter how much he ran toward the distant image, Dean never got any closer. No matter how much he called Sammy's name, the figure never looked back, never gave a sign that Dean's shouts were heard.

And then the most peculiar thing would happen.

The rapid beat of dream Dean's heart would settle, his harsh breathing would even out and a sense of wellbeing would overcome him, a reassuring presence would descend around him and convey that wherever Sam was, he was fine, he was at peace.

On those nights, Dean would jolt awake, the peaceful feelings imparted by the presence in his dream state fading so fast that he would start to panic and pant for breath and he knew…

He knew his brother was dead.

"Don't you do that," Missouri said, reaching forward to grab his hand. "You can't go there, Dean. You hear me? You can't ever give up hope. Just like you're brother told ya, people don't disappear, other people just stop looking. You're not gonna stop, are ya Dean?"

He shook his head no as she shook his arm, trying to get his full attention. "You can't give up," she urged. "Because I think…"

He looked to her then, picking up on the hesitancy in her voice. "What…because what?" he asked, not sure if he was ready to hear the answer.

"Because, I've been trying all morning, but I can't see him Dean…I can't feel him anywhere."

He pulled back his arm, not knowing what to say, what to think. "You mean he's…"

"No," she sat back in her chair, suddenly looking old, looking exhausted. "You see, everyone has a...presence about them that I can read. Even in death, those signatures exist and I can read them…sometimes at the grave site, sometimes in places those people loved, but Sam…I can't find him. He's just not here."

Dean suddenly thought, "You mean a soul, don't you?"

She shook her head, but she didn't look too sure herself. "I suppose you can call it their soul…It's the very essence of what a person is or was, their emotions and hopes and dreams and it's also what they sometimes become in death, but don't you see…it's always there…I can feel them."

"But you don't feel Sam's?" and a terrifying idea started to form in his mind. What if Missouri couldn't feel Sam's soul because it had been taken or suppressed, what if Sam had said yes to the devil, what if he had been tricked…

"I think," she interrupted his spiraling thoughts. "If that were the case, then we would have known by now…the end would already be here."

Dean didn't know what to think about this new information, but at least he had something new to go on and it gave him a little boost, a little hope. "What else could explain what you're sensing than?"

"Nothing in this natural world. It's something very powerful, but I can't tell its intent."

Dean's phone rang and he reached to his pocket to pull it out.

"That's Bobby and he's gonna tell you that voodoo you been playing around with can't locate Sam's corporeal form." her tone was harsh, but Missouri's body language didn't support her words. "You're playing with fire, boy and one day it might just burn you."

But that was a chance he was willing to take.

When it came to his brother, there wasn't anything he wasn't willing to do.

TBC


	4. Wayfarer

Part Four: Wayfarer

When his eyes opened to the late afternoon sun, he didn't want to get up.

The room was comfortably warm and the blankets and sheets on the twin bed were clean and smelt of rainforest or maybe linen and cotton, or whatever other fabric softener Bobby might have used.

And why did Bobby use fabric softener to begin with?

Dean was used to institutional smelling bleach, if they were lucky and the sheets on the motel beds were even washed to begin with.

Over the years he and his brother had stayed in some strange or questionable places, but with the rise of bed bugs and other nasty communal diseases, they had to be more careful about the places they chose, usually looking for the little mom and pop places where the family that ran it, took pride in keeping the rooms clean.

When he shifted to his back, Dean ignored the pounding in his head and caught sight of the alarm clock on the night stand and groaned.

Judging by the sky he had been sleeping for over fourteen hours.

He had stumbled in a little after two in the morning and even though he had tried not to wake Bobby up, the man had met him at the top of the steps.

He thought maybe his friend would scold him for staying out all night, drinking and whoring it up with any woman that looked his way, but instead he just said, "you gotta quit doing this to yourself, son."

If Dean had been a little more sober, he might have gotten mad at the man.

Because his brother had been gone going on six months and they were no where closer to finding him then the night Sam had walked out of the motel room to get burgers and never came back.

But Dean hadn't been sober, he had been drunk.

Drunk as a skunk, he dad used to say.

Shit faced and feeling no pain.

Last night anyway, now he was just hung over and the fading day's light was drilling holes in to his skull.

A sudden, descending feeling of guilt washed through him.

Fourteen hours he had been sleeping off the booze was fourteen hours Dean could have been looking for his brother.

Sam was out there somewhere and Dean was lazing around in bed. Going out every night and drinking till he forgot his troubles, but they were always back when he woke.

He needed to get up.

Get up and get some black coffee. Maybe puke…or puke first and then get some coffee and some aspirin…definitely some aspirin.

He rolled on to his side again, grimacing as he swung his legs over the bed and pushed himself upward. He needed to stop and breathe before he could even think about putting his feet on the floor, but once his toes touched the hardwood, he was able to push with his hands and stand.

He only swayed for a second or two and then stumbled to the bathroom just one room over. He managed to turn on the shower and skim out of his underwear before the first wave of nausea had him purging into the toilet.

He was surprised by the volume, but once he was to just dry heaving, Dean sank down to the floor and rested his forehead on the seat.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Time didn't seem to have any meaning for him nowadays, but when he pulled the curtain back and stepped under the spray the water was cooling.

He washed quickly, noting a few bruises peppering his torso and legs, but he couldn't remember how they had gotten there.

It didn't matter anyway.

The water cleared his head a little, and by the time he stepped out onto the bath rug, he felt almost like himself.

After drying and dressing, he brushed his teeth and rinsed the remainder or the whisky and scotch and the little shots of something a murky golden color from his mouth.

When he looked into the mirror he immediately adverted his eyes, because even though he knew he was looking at his own reflection, Dean didn't like what he saw.

What would Sam think?

Even as that thought passed through his brain, Dean's eyes returned to the mirror. They filled to the brim, but Dean refused to let the tears fall.

No chick flick moments, he thought and wiped at his face with a hand towel.

Missouri had told him not to give up, but with each passing day, it was getting harder and harder.

Harder to get up.

Harder to get going.

Harder to think of some new ways to locate his brother.

Harder to hold out for that hope…that he was ever gonna find Sam.

Someone rapped on the door and Dean heard Bobby say, "if you're done having a pity party, I got a late lunch on the table."

He didn't want to eat, but he knew that he would.

For Bobby or for Sam, he wasn't sure.

But that didn't really matter either.

He was gonna go down and sit at the table and eat whatever Bobby put in front of him and then they would talk about whatever Bobby had been able to dig up and then he was gonna make a new plan.

"Yeah," he called. "I'm coming."

After he heard the older man walk away, he looked on more time into the mirror, soothing down his longer hair with his hands, studying the face that looked back at him.

Nodding at his reflection, he turned and made his way down the hall, down the back stairs and into the kitchen where his lunch awaited.

It was a new day and maybe this would be the one.

This would be day where he found his brother or at the very least some answers.

_It's the not knowing that's killin' me._

Bobby met him at the table, a weary look on his face and Dean knew what that meant. There was nothing new, no new leads and he felt guilty again, sinking into his chair, running his hands up and over his face and head.

He felt a little sorry for the older man too.

He knew he could be hard to live with and he for sure didn't want to take out his hurt and anger on Bobby, but the man was usually the only one around.

He hadn't seen Cas in months.

Missouri had come to visit three or four times and when ever he was driving near Kansas, he would drop in to see if she had felt anything new about Sam, but so far on all counts, they had come up with a big fat nothing.

"Have some tuna," Bobby said, sitting a plate with a sandwich and some chips down in front of him. "I need to make a run into town later and restock."

A local news paper from a few towns over sat open near his right hand and he read the headline about locals disappearing from their beds, falling asleep with loved ones next to them and that husband or wife, waking to find the person gone.

Dean nodded at Bobby's statement, not feeling like he could speak just yet.

He knew he shouldn't be so up and down…and to be more thankful, at least. He still had Bobby, still had people who cared for him. But now that he was up and more awake, the earlier commitment that today was a brand new day, and anything could happen started to slip back to a niggling doubt that Sam was gone and not only gone, but gone forever.

And what he really wanted was his brother.

Like a blanket, this mood covered him and he could feel all his walls slamming back into place. Could feel himself shutting off and shutting out his resolve, his emotions, his hopes.

When had a Winchester ever caught a break, anyway?

Eating his sandwich on auto pilot, munching his chips until he felt he ate enough to satisfy Bobby, he thought about what had taken those people a few towns over.

Bobby was puttering around behind him, rinsing dishes in the sink when he suddenly said, "I can go, you know…"

Because that would be doing something, instead of sitting here until he couldn't stand it, then slinking into town to drink away his worries. "To town…I can make a run into town and restock." Dean slid the rest of his lunch into the trash, putting the plate in the soapy water. "Just make me a list."

Bobby nodded, stacking the clean plates in a drainer, drying his hand on an old ratty dish towel. "You've been going into town every night," he said, pulling a piece of paper from a pad near the old rotary phone, finding a pen in a stuffed junk drawer.

He nodded, knowing what Bobby was getting at. "Yeah, but I think tonight I'll just do a supply run and then maybe…" he didn't know why he was gonna say what he was about to say, just that there was an urge, something deep down compelling him, "we'll take a look at those disappearances over in Buckly."

When he looked to Bobby, the older man had stopped writing, but after a small nod, he went back to his list.

"I has gonna pass it off to Nick, but if you want to take a look, I got a file on the desk in the den." Bobby handed him a list and he eyed a few things on it that he wouldn't be able to pick up at the local grocery store. "Stop by Maya's to get the rest." Bobby told him. "We'll head out at first light."

Dean grabbed his jacket and took the credit card and fake I.D Bobby handed him on the way to the door. Once behind the wheel he started up his baby and listened to her purr a beat or two before putting her in drive and heading to town.

He felt a little pang of guilt when he pulled past the bar and into the parking lot of the grocery store. But it passed quickly, replaced with a sense of purpose. Maybe by looking into those disappearances he wasn't out looking for Sam, but at least he would be doing something useful.

It didn't mean he was giving up.

He found what he needed, putting a can of coffee and a few loaves of bread into his cart. A quart of milk and sticks of margarine followed. He went down the canned food aisle and stocked up on tuna and beans, chili and soup, some canned pineapple and apple pie filling. All that was left on his list was some biscuit mix and orange juice.

While he could probably get some of the spices and herbs on the list here, he knew Maya would have some of the more hard to find items and he wanted them as pure as possible. He didn't yet know what Bobby had found out about whatever they would be hunting, but it was better to be prepared as possible.

In the morning they headed out, and the next few weeks went by in a blur.

He and Bobby fell into a natural rhythm of hunting. The research and recon, investigating and talking with the victims loved ones and the actual kill, knowing that the people of Buckly wouldn't have to worry about their loved ones disappearing, weather they knew that or not. It was a thankless job, but immersed in it, Dean was free to do what he was born to do.

Over the next couple of months, he had criss-crossed the country, hooking up with others or alone, he would hunt.

Bobby was always just a tank of gas or a phone call away. Always a source of info or an ear to listen and even though Sam was never far from his thoughts, sometimes he would go the whole day before he remembered.

It was getting easier now, better

The dreams came less often now, but they were always the same...Sam in the distance, just a shadow dissolving in the darkness and then the feeling of peace. Now when he woke, his heart didn't try to beat out of his chest and he wondered if it was actually Sam who was sending those feeling his way.

Then one day, ten months after his brother disappeared, Cas showed up at Bobby's while Dean was crashing there. They had just sat down to a bowl of canned chili when the angel spoke from somewhere behind them, making Bobby tip over his bowl.

"Jesus, Cas…what did I tell you…"

"I found him, Dean…I know where Sam is."

TBC


	5. The Awakening

Part Five: The Awakening

Ten Months Ago…

When he came to himself, he was calm…at peace, like waking from a good nights sleep.

The bus that he rode in bumped along city streets. The scenery urban, run down and he didn't think he had ever seen the red-washed brick buildings before, row after row of connected housing and corner pubs, trash piled in cans on the curbs, waiting to be picked up.

As he continued to look around he became aware of a slight ache behind his right ear and that there was only two other people commuting with him, besides the older, balding man operating the bus. The driver weaved in and out of traffic, stopping at just about every street corner to let more riders on.

They all seemed to be dressed for work, some in suits and skirts, others in uniforms and he looked down at his own blue polo shirt and shorts, flip flops on his feet.

He couldn't tell what time of day it was, but the bus was filling up and as they moved forward along the narrow street, the residential road gave way to a two lane highway.

Here the buildings were taller, business like and as they pulled to a stop by a high rise, many of his fellow commuters exited.

The bus pulled away from the curb with a hiss of brakes releasing and the driver pulling the lever that closed the door with a metallic clank.

He was nearly alone again when he wondered where he was going and then the thought hit, that he didn't know where that might be.

Feeling a little nervous now, he considered where he had come from and when no answer came, the feeling of calm began to dissipate.

He thought about the unfamiliar buildings and sights, the people and bus and something like dread bloomed in his belly.

He clearly wasn't going to work.

Why was he on this bus?

Where had he come from and where was he going?

And then dread shifted to panic when he realized that not only did he not know where or when or why…he didn't know who.

Who was he?

A full body shuddered worked through him as he stumbled to the front of the bus.

"Easy, buddy," the driver said. "Did you miss your stop? Where ya headed?"

_I don't know…oh god, oh god, I don't know! _

"Where are we," he managed, his voice warbling. "I don't know where I am."

The driver looked him over, pulling to the curb where more commuters waited. "You drunk, man…strung out?"

Was he? Did that explain why he didn't know what was happening?

He didn't think so, but the dull ache in his head spiked.

He stepped aside and down, letting people file pass him and on to the bus. "I ah…I…where are we…what city is this?"

The driver gave him a weary look, probably thinking he was indeed strung out. "This is Baltimore, man. You're a block over from the harbor." The man looked like he was going to say more, but then he closed his mouth and the door to the bus.

As the bus drove away, he became aware of noise. Background sounds that he hadn't heard before, people walking and talking, traffic zipping by and something roaring in his head, like blood rushing through his veins.

He spun in a slow circle, taking it all in, the buildings closing, the smells of a near by takeout and people seemingly surrounding him as they hurried to and fro. Someone bumped into him and dislodged a backpack that he didn't realize he carried.

Backing against a building and dropping onto one knee he dug through the pack, pulling out a light jacket and a set of keys. He found a map of Baltimore, a pack of gum and a bottle of Tylenol. Also a paperback book on modern art and a pamphlet for the Walter's Art Gallery, but no wallet, no cell phone and no I.D.

_What do I do now?_

Across the street he could see a fire house and moved that way. A few men worked in the bay, cleaning the engine and others sorting and loading things on to an ambulance.

"I need…I need help. Please."

They all stopped what they were doing, looking him over before one of the EMT's stepped away from the group. "What can I help you with?"

"I ah…I don't know…I don't know what happened to me," and he couldn't help that his knees felt week or that he was suddenly dizzy.

The guy stepped closer, grabbing his arm and guiding him down to sit on the ground. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't…I don't know."

They asked him questions that he couldn't answer, "What's your name? Where do you live? Can we call someone for you?"

He shook his head, 'I don't…I just…"

"Okay, okay…take it easy," something snug wrapped around his arm and squeezed. "Were you mugged…did you hit your head?"

With they mention of his head, the pounding behind his eyes picked up. "My head does hurt," he told them.

"Call it in," someone near by said and before he could really understand what was happening, he was laid out on a gurney, an IV drip hooked to his arm and someone else leaning over him listening to his chest through a stethoscope. "Just relax, buddy. We're gonna take good care of you."

He nodded, feeling tears press at the back of his eyes.

He couldn't explain how grateful he was.

Someone was going to help him.

They bundled him into the ambulance and it pulled out, sirens blaring. "We're taking you to Harbor Hospital," the guy told him. "They'll figure it out. You just relax and take some deep breaths."

He tried to slow down his breathing.

Someone was helping him and they would figure it out…they had too.

The trip was short, and before he knew it the back doors were opening and people swarmed around him. The EMT called out his vitals and reported what he knew, which wasn't too much. "He had this on him, Doc."

The backpacked was passed off to another and he was wheeled away and into the building, through some swinging door and into a curtained cubicle. "Do you know your name, what day is this?"

He shook his head. "I don't remember…I don't remember much."

People bustled around him, listening to his heart, looking into his eyes with bright light, hooking him up to machines.

"What do you remember?"

So he told them about the bus, feeling like he was waking from a dream, and yet not asleep, ending with finding the fire house and asking for help.

He was poked and prodded, x-rays were taken and he answered their questions as best he could.

After awhile he drifted, not falling asleep, but not really paying attention to what was going on a round him.

His head hurt.

There was talk of a head CT and a consult and a little later, as the activity around him died down, a new person came into view. "Hello, I'm Doctor Heather Jones." She was young, petite, blond hair pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck and she wore a white lab coat instead of the blue scrubs of the others.

She looked over his chart before addressing him again. "The ER Docs called me in to take a look. I understand you have no memory beyond this morning when you woke up on a bus?"

He nodded; eyes squinting against the over head lights.

She asked him to do things like touch his nose with his finger and to push back against her hands. She had him standing with his eyes closed and then he was helped back on to the gurney.

"The head CT will hopefully tell us more." She told him, writing something in his chart. "You have amnesia. I'm thinking retrograde based on your symptoms."

He didn't know what he was suppose to say, but asked, "What does that mean?"

She finished with her notes and put the chart on a counter along the wall. "The brain basically stores memories three different ways. What we learn, like in school, facts about places, that sort of thing and then tasks, like riding a bike, brushing your teeth, speaking. We also have what's called episodic memory. Like going on vacation, what we ate for breakfast this morning. You are having a problem with your episodic memory.

It can be caused by trauma, but I don't think your head injury is severe enough to cause that sort of problem. The other cause could be a mass or tumor in your brain."

He tried to take in what she was saying.

Is that what was happening to him?

Did he have a tumor and that's why he couldn't remember who he was, what his name was, where he lived…

Movement in the hall caught his attention and two men in cheap suits stopped at his door, one wrapping at the frame. "I'm Detective Marshall Whitmore and this is my partner, Detective Alan Hicks. Can we come in?"

They were addressing the doctor, so he closed his eyes again and listened to them talk.

"Doctor Jones," he heard her say and then there was rustling of clothing as they moved into the hallway, but he could still hear them speak.

"Whatcha got, doc?"

"John Doe, brought in from House Nine a little over an hour ago, EMT Nicolas reported possible foul play. The patient has a few bumps on his head behind his right ear and has stated he has a headache, but there are no other injuries that we can see. Doctor Marks requested a Neuro consult. We are taking him up for a head CT in a few minutes to role out a mass. It's possible that a tumor could be causing his amnesia, but we are also looking for trauma."

"We talked to Nicolas already; he said your Doe had a backpack on him?"

"Yes."

He peered through his partially closed eyes as the doctor came back into the room and bent down by his gurney. She pulled the black backpack from underneath as well as a bag of the clothes he was wearing when he came in.

"Here are his belongings. I'll be back to check on him later and someone will be along shortly to take him up to imaging. Let me know if you have any other questions"

He closed his eyes again when the bag was placed on a counter and two sets of gloved hand went through what he thought must be his. He didn't know if he should feel violated by the act or upset that the detectives had yet to address him.

"Huh…"

He looked toward the duo again, brow raised in question.

"Hello," the shorter of the two said and moved closer. "I'm Detective Hicks and this is my partner, Detective Whitmore. We're looking into your case."

He nodded, because he didn't know what else to do, plus he felt funny, a little floaty and he wondered if they had given him something to keep him calm.

"We found a phone number on a scrap of paper inside your book."

That perked him up. A clue to who he was.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions while my partner tries the number?"

He shook his head and pushed up a little, trying to sit.

"Here, let me," and the detective reached behind his prone form and raised the head of the gurney.

"You said you woke up on a bus this morning and didn't know where you were or who you are?"

"Sorta…I mean, I don't think I was asleep, just not aware." And as the man wrote in a little notebook he started to wonder if he even sounded sane?

"Okay, do you know what bus number you were on? Where you got off ? It might be helpful to speak to the driver."

He told the cop what he remembered about the driver and that the bus had passed a large office building area where many commuters got off, but he didn't know the route or the number.

Whitmore came back into the room and shook his head.

"Would you excuse me…John, can I call you John?"

He didn't think that was his name, but still it resonated with him, brought a little comfort to his confusing world, so he nodded. "Sure…better then not having a name."

When both officers returned Hick's explained that the number was to a Mrs. Nora Stills, but she denied knowing anyone matching his description. "She said she didn't know anyone with an English accent."

That caught him off guard. "I have an English accent?"

Both men did their best not to give him a strange look, but it was Hick's who answered, "Yes…I'm no expert, but you definitely have an accent."

He wanted to say something, anything just to hear his own voice, but instead he shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"Well, since you may have been a victim of a crime that caused you to lose your memory, a forensic specialist will be coming over to meet with you later today, after your medical tests. They will do an exam; take some samples and photos and fingerprints so we can see if there are any missing person's bulletins."

But John had an understanding that they would run his prints, his DNA through other databases as well.

What if he was a bad person, a criminal?

But he didn't feel like a bad person, so he would just have to trust that he was right.

The detective withdrew his wallet and pulled out a business card. "If you remember anything, you can reach me there." Hick's sat the card on a nearby table. "We'll return your bag when forensics is done with it."

As the officers left, a man dressed in yellow scrubs entered. "Hi, I'm John and I'm gonna take you up to imaging."

He smirked a little, considering telling the nurse that apparently he was John too, but when the man picked up his arm and looked at his hospital bracelet, he saw that it proclaimed he was actually Unknown White Male.

The fear and dread that faded was back with a vengeance.

What if he never remembered…what if he was going to be like this forever?

TBC


	6. Sojourner

Part Six: Sojourner

When he was done with his head CT, the same nurse, John, wheeled him back to his E.R. cubicle.

The test itself wasn't so bad, loud, but he still managed to drift off with the ear plugs and eye mask the tech had given him and he still felt sleepy.

Once his wheels were locked and the heavier blanket was draped over him, he could feel himself drifting again.

Strange images flashed behind his eyes, but he couldn't decipher what they might mean.

He was alone, on the road, driving, the windshield wipers beating a hypnotic rhythm against the light rain.

He was supposed to be getting something for someone, but he didn't know what or who.

And then he could taste the tart tang of key lime pie on his tongue.

The road went on and on, the scenery never changing. Back road after back road and then the sun came out. He slowed, pulled to the shoulder under an overpass and put the car in park.

He opened the door and in the distance he could just make a form, maybe that someone he was missing…

"Sir?"

He jolted awake, the fragments of his dream disappearing as he wiped at his eyes.

"I'm sorry," a new person stood just inside the pulled curtain of his cubicle. "I didn't mean to startle you." She walked closer, setting a case she carried down on the counter along the wall. "I'm Kelly Hughey, a forensics specialist from the crime lab."

She reached for his hand and he shook it, shifting on the bed and pulling the blanket a little closer and up under his chin.

He was uneasy, scared, but not of her. She was tall, but her features were delicate, her hand small in his and he knew she didn't mean him any harm, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't allow her near him.

'I've spoken with Dr. Jones and she said they are still waiting on your scans to be read, but that I could get started if you have no objections."

He pushed himself up a little, away from her, but she smiled, moving with slow and deliberate movements, trying to put him at ease as she pulled items from the case she brought and he realized he had yet to answer her.

"I, ah…I have no objections," and the lilt of his own voice startled him, like he didn't even recognize his own voice and that scared him more.

What if he did have a brain tumor?

What if he was just going insane?

A thousand frantic thoughts raced through his head, from an illness, to poisoning to an elaborate conspiracy, but why would someone go through all the trouble to cause him the loss of his memory. He wasn't sure who he was, but for some reason he thought, he wasn't any one important.

He pushed the paranoia aside as she stepped closer. "If you will just lie on your back for now, I'm going to take some samples and then I'll sit you up."

He nodded, shifting flat and waited.

"I'm going to take some swabs, then some hair samples and scraping. It won't hurt."

She asked him to open his mouth and what looked like an over sized q-tip was pressed in, rubbing along the inside his cheek and then another ran around and behind his teeth. She shoved the swabs into a collection tubes, sealing and labeling them.

She used long tweezers to pluck a few hairs from his head and they were tucked into a little enveloped, then she took another little envelope and held up his right hand, scraping under each nail with a thin file, before moving on to the other hand, putting the scraping into the envelope before clipping a few nails and doing the same.

He didn't know why he didn't like that she clipped his nails; but his stomach felt a little queasy, unsettled about someone having a piece of his body.

"Okay, now for prints." She used some kind of ink pad and pressed each of his fingers and thumbs to a piece of paper, and then set it aside to dry.

"Okay," she said, pulling out a strange looking wand from her bag. "This is a black light and it will show me if you have any organic fluids on your body. I'm just going to dim the lights and have a look."

He endured her search of his body, feeling strangely detached.

His sheets where shifted and his gown moved around, he was asked to move his body too, bend his knees, shift his legs.

He sort of zoned out as she took more samples with swabs and then finally she rearranged his gown, pulled his sheets back up to his chest and the lights came back on.

She pulled out a camera, "let's sit you up." She pulled the head of the gurney up and then snapped a few pictures of his face from a few different angles. "All done."

He nodded, a little overwhelmed. "What…what happens now?"

She answered as she packed his samples and her tools back into her bag, "it should take a few days to get the results, but we'll run your prints first, see if we can figure out who you are."

Dr. Jones came in as the tech slipped out. "I have some news," she told him and he couldn't tell from the expression on her face if it was good or bad.

"The CT of your brain looks clear."

Should he be relieved?

"We did find a small tumor on your Pituitary Gland, but we don't think that could cause your amnesia. Most people with these types of tumors are born with them; the gland itself controls your hormone function, which may explain why you are so tall."

She sighed then, moving closer to his bed. "It's something we will keep an eye on, but I don't think you need to worry about it."

"Now what?" he asked, because if it wasn't something physical…

"Since we can't find a physical cause for your amnesia, I called Dr. Morgan; he's a psychologist on staff." She hurried on to assure him, "that just means that your amnesia could be caused by a psychological trauma and Dr. Morgan will be able to help you find out what that might be."

"O…okay." Oh, God…he was nuts.

"Don't worry, John. We'll get to the bottom of this and get you home to your family." She patted his leg through the blankets and sheets and then stepped out, speaking to someone in the hall.

His family?

He hadn't even thought about having a family. Who were his parents? Did he have any brothers or sisters? Was he married, did he have kids?

He looked down to his ring finger, but it was bare.

"John?"

A man stood near him and he didn't even hear him coming in. "I'm Tony Morgan," the doctor held out his hand, so he shook it. He was young, just a bit of grey at his temples and dark rim glasses that looked like a throw back to the seventies, not that he should know what glasses from that decade would look like…how did he know that?

"John?"

"Sor..sorry." He knew he wasn't making a good first impression.

"It's okay. You've had a really rough day." He didn't know why, but the man's demeanor calmed him, the deep timber of his voice almost familiar. "The orderly is coming and we are going to move you for a seventy two hour evaluation."

The doctor paused, probably waiting for his reaction, but what could he do? It seemed like the next logical step.

"During that time, I'm going to do my best to help you with your memories. See if we can get to the bottom of your troubles."

As the doctor talked, he unlocked the wheels on the gurney. "I spoke with the detective on your case. So far they haven't found your finger prints in the system and no one has reported anyone matching your description missing, but they have several more data bases they can try. In a few days they will return your bag and clothes." The gurney rolled toward the door and another man met them in the hall. "That's good," he said, as the other man took up the head of the bed and Dr. Morgan held onto the side to help guide them down the hall and into an elevator. "It might help you remember having your own things on hand."

A key was inserted to the panel on the elevator wall and a few buttons pushed. "We'll get you settled into a room and fed, I bet you're hungry."

His belly rumbled at the mention of food and he wondered when the last time was that he ate….what was the last thing that he had eaten?

The doors opened with a ping and they rolled down another hall, but the nurse's station on the corner was behind glass, the woman in pink scrubs behind it looked up and smiled at him. All the doors to the rooms were shut and he couldn't see in, the small windows were up to high, but he assumed they were patient's rooms.

He knew he should be upset, should feel anxious, but he just wasn't.

The nurse caught up with them as they turned a corner and he spotted one room on this wing with the door opened. They pushed him through and the nurse scooted around the gurney and stood by the bed. "Hey, Hon…I'm Lily." She released the side bar and asked, "you think you can scoot over here with a little help?"

"Yes, ma'am." he said, sliding his legs off the gurney as he sat up.

A wave of dizziness swept through him, but after a shaky start he managed to slide down, his bare feet on the cool floor. She pulled the blankets back and he slid in, the IV bag moved to hang from the a pole by his bed and blankets and sheet were pulled up over his chest.

"I'll be back this evening, John." the doctor said. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing two thirty. "Lily will bring in your lunch and then I want you to get some rest."

He noticed the nurse was fiddling with his IV, but then she looked down at him and smiled. "I'll be right back, Hon," and true to her word, she returned with a covered tray, taking off the lid to reveal a sandwich and some chips in a bag, a cup of green jello and a plastic spoon, a little box of apple juice and a pitcher made out of plastic next to a lidless Styrofoam cup.

"Water," she told him. "One more thing before I go, Hon. I need you to sign this, it's an admittance form and you'll get a copy that explains your rights." She slid the paper over the tray table along with a pen.

He didn't think anything about scrawling his signature on the line and then he reared back, startled.

She picked up the form and turned it to face her, smiling. "It's a bit messy, but looks like your name starts with an 'S'. She turned it to show him his handy work. "I don't like calling people John or Jane when they can't remember their name, so we can work with what we got, whatcha think…how about Sunny? You look like you could be a Sunny."

He doubted that, but it didn't matter. He had a signature…he had a name…he was somebody and couldn't help the smile that upturned his lips.

"Okay, Sunny. Get to eating your lunch before the meds kick in. After your nap we'll tell Doc Morgan the good news."

He nodded, picking up his ham and cheese and took a bite.

He was excited, still a little scared, but now he knew.

He had a name and it started with an 'S".

TBC


	7. Salvation

Part Seven: Salvation

Today Dr. Morgan sat across from him, legs casually crossed, hands resting in his lap, a pleasant, relaxed look on his face.

His white lab coat was missing and he didn't have a pad and paper, didn't meet Sunny in his office and so he wasn't sure what to expect. He didn't know if he had ever spoken with a therapist before or if maybe what he knew about them was just from what he had read or maybe seen on the television.

Other patients milled around the common room he was allowed to enjoy after his first twenty four hours.

Earlier Sunny had wandered out of his room a little after his lunch, clad in a soft grey tee and blue scrub pants, fuzzy grey socks with little grippers on his feet.

He had looked around the room, saw people working puzzles or playing board games, one woman working on a canvas with what appeared to be water colors.

He didn't know how he knew they were water colors, but just accepted that they were.

It was hard to reconcile some of the things his brain recognized, but he was learning to accept that he just knew some things even if he couldn't remember why.

There was a small television with a few chairs arranged in a semi circle, but only one person sat in front, watching the afternoon news. The two people on the screen, who sat behind the news desk, didn't seem familiar, but maybe that was because he just didn't watch the news.

He spotted his doctor speaking with the same charge nurse, Lily. They glanced his way, but he couldn't decipher the look they both gave him and then Dr. Morgan walked toward him, nodding toward a small table with magazines and a few books. "Can we talk?"

And boy did the man talk.

He talked about, well just about anything.

Sunny didn't know if he was a sports kinda guy, but Dr. Morgan was hopeful the Orioles would make the World Series this year.

Sunny didn't know if he had ever been over to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, but Dr. Morgan chatted about the past weekend and the clipper ships that had been in port.

Sunny didn't know if he had plans for Independence Day, but Dr. Morgan wouldn't shut up about his wife and kids and the upcoming fire works and barbeque.

Sunny didn't know anything about the latest block buster movie, but Dr. Morgan went on and on about the last few he had managed to get to on his days off.

Sunny didn't know what his favorite pizza topping was, but Dr. Morgan sang the praises of Pizza John's, a local joint with just the right amount of greasy, crispy pepperoni, lamenting said grease on the light blue tie his kids had given him on his last birthday and Sunny, well Sunny didn't know when his birthday was.

"So the detective you met the other day, Hicks. He dropped off your stuff, but they haven't found anything so far."

And what could he say to that? Maybe he was all alone in the world if nobody was missing him.

"I put your pack and clothes into your room. I notice the art book and brochure. Do you like art?"

He started to lift his shoulders, because how should he know, but then he thought he must like art; why else would he have the book?

"I brought you this." The doctor reached down into his soft sided brief case and pulled out a book. It was a coffee table book on the art gallery and Sunny took it, fanning through the pages, looking at the prints of paintings and sculptures.

He knew the periods, recognized some of the artist's styles without looking at the credit under the photos and the whole thing just made his head hurt.

Doc Morgan cleared his throat and reached back into his bag. "Clearly you have an interest, so maybe that's our starting place. I don't know if you're an artist," he pulled out a sketch book and a few pencils, "and if you are, what median you might use, but maybe these will help you work out some memories."

He handed the whole thing over and Sunny didn't know what to say, but, "thanks" seemed appropriate.

"You're welcome." The doctor stood then, hand brushing over the grease spot on his tie. "I'll be back around this evening to talk, but if you need me before then, Lily will page me."

"Kay," he nodded, watching the man walk off and stop a few tables over, leaning in to speak with the woman working on a puzzle, and then Sunny gazed down to the items he gripped.

He stood, walking back down the hall and into his room. The backpack he came in with was sitting at the foot of his bed and he dug into it again, this time his search a little less frantic. He pulled out the book on modern art and the brochure on the Walter's and sat them on the table by his bed.

He didn't know if he was an artist, but what he was more interested in was the piece of paper still tucked into the book. He looked at the scrawl of pen and the phone number. Even though the police had checked out the number, it had to have been someone he knew or someone who knew him. Why else would he be carrying it around?

He pulled out a piece of paper from the sketch book and used one of the pencils and rewrote the number, but the hand writing didn't match.

He sat, trying to remember why he had the phone number, why it was tucked into a book about art, why he was on a bus in a city he couldn't recognize, but the more he thought about things, the more his head hurt.

Giving up for the time being, he pulled the sketch book over his lap and pressed the pencil tip to the thick paper. If he was an artist, shouldn't he be able to draw….something?

Nothing came to mind.

No images of lovely landscapes or trusted people faces or even a bowl of fruit.

Maybe he didn't use paper and pencil…maybe he was painter or sculpture or maybe…maybe he wasn't any of those things.

He leaned back on the pillows, bringing his legs up and balancing the pad on his bent knees. Putting pencil to paper again, he relaxed, blowing out a deep breath and just let his hand do what it wanted to.

When he glanced back down, he realized he had drawn a tree.

Not a nice tree, not an artistic tree, but a basic, any kindergartner could draw, tree.

It had to mean something, right?

He took in a another deep breath, blowing it out, staring at his drawing and then, almost dream like, he could see a two story house, a well maintained, manicured lawn, and the tree he had drawn in the front yard.

Something tickled his memory…a man and a woman, a little boy and baby, standing in front of the tree, smiling, happy, and loved.

Then a another woman, screaming and pounding on the upstairs window, the front door slamming closed and fire….oh god, fire everyway.

People were running toward him, hands were holding him…holding him down and he could feel a prick of a needle at his shoulder. Someone was talking, telling him to breathe, that he would be alright and he realized he was crying and rocking, sitting on the floor near his bed.

Whatever drug they had given him had started to work, made him feel heavy and tired, but did nothing for the pounding headache behind his right eye.

"He…ead…huuurts."

"Okay, okay…we'll give you something for your headache…just breathe…that's it…calm down…you're okay."

Hand pulled on him and his body tilted, leaning back and into the bed where someone pulled the sheets and blanket up and over his chest. He grabbed on to the bedding, shivering under there warmth.

"That's it…better, Sunny. You're gonna be okay."

He nodded, eyes finally focusing on the nurse, Lily, soothing him with a gentle hand to his arm, rubbing her fingers in little circles over the length of it.

"Go to sleep, Hon…you'll feel better when you wake up."

So he closed his eyes and in seconds he was deeply and soundly asleep. He didn't know how long he stayed that way, but when he opened them again, the room was empty and the door was shut.

He slid off the bed and went to the tiny adjoining bathroom, using the toilet, and then washing his hands. The soap slipped from his fingers and he still felt shaky, but at least the headache was gone.

Back in his room, he didn't know what to do.

He wanted out.

Wanted to get out of there and do…do something.

Suddenly he wished he had a laptop or some reference books.

He wanted to understand how something like this could happen, see if he could find a way to fix it…to fix him.

"Sunny?"

He left the bathroom, finding Lily standing in the door way.

"How you feeling, Hon?"

"Better, I guess." Truthfully, he was still a little shaky, his brain a little foggy and his legs felt weak. He wanted to sit on the bed, but if he did that, he might get another dose of whatever they had given him and he didn't want that.

"Good. You missed dinner. Are you hungry?"

He really wasn't, but he nodded anyway.

"Okay, I'll get them to send up a dinner box. Do you want to come to the common room for awhile?"

He thought if he said no, she might shut him in and lock his door, so he nodded again and then the slip of paper that was tucked back into the book caught his eye. "Hey, uh…Lily? Am I allowed to make a phone call?"

Her eyes showed her surprise, but she nodded anyway. "Sure. There's a phone in the common room." And she didn't ask anymore questions as she watched him snag the paper and followed her to the room at the end of the hall.

She took him to the phone, picking up the handset. "You just need to dial nine to get an outside line. I'll bring your food when it gets here."

He watched her walk off, speaking to a few of the other patients that shared the room with him. He waited until she was out of view, not sure why he felt he had to, and then dialed the number. The phone rang and then again, two more time and Sunny thought that maybe his call would be going to voice mail, but on the fifth ring the call connected and a woman said, "Hello?"

He cleared this throat, "Umm…"

"Hello?" she said again, "who's there?"

Shit…what should he say?

"I ah…hello…hello?" Did she hang up?

"Is this…the police called the other day asking if I knew a…are you?"

"Yes! Yes…please, can you help me?"

"I'm sorry, dear. I don't think I know who you are. You're voice doesn't sound familiar."

Oh god, she was going to hang up and then what the hell would he do? She had to know him. Why else would he have her number…she had too.

"Please, ma'am…please. I.." he couldn't help that his voice warbled. "I had your number written on a piece of paper…not my writing, tucked into a book of modern art."

There was a second or two of silence and then she asked, "A book of modern art, you say?"

Did that mean something to her? "Yes…yes, ma'am."

"Well, my daughter, Lanna Lilton is a student…she's an artist and she dropped her phone…"

He was trying hard to follow the woman's logic.

"Well, she has been giving out the home phone because her cell needs to be replaced…just hang on, will you?"

"Yes, yes…I can hang on." And his heart beated hard in his chest. He heard a chair pushing back from a table and then voices and then someone new was on the phone.

"Hello?"

And he knew that voice…somehow. "Hi, I ah…"

"Oh god…Sam? Sam is that you?"

"I…can you just…"

"Hey…it's okay." And he knew she was just responding to the clear emotion in his voice. "Mom just told me that they called about you a few days ago and that you can't remember…but you're Sam. Sam Williams. We're…well, we're friends and I'm going to come and get you okay? I'm coming, Sam."

And he just nodded, feeling his knees unlock as he sank down to rest his back against the wall. Lily ran over, held out her hand and took the phone. He could hear her speaking but didn't know what was being said over the roar in his head.

When Lily hung up, she knelt down beside him. "Sam," she said and the name sounded right. "Lanna is coming first thing in the morning. She needs to speak with the detectives and Dr. Morgan this evening, but she's coming to take you home in the morning."

TBC


	8. Deliverance

SNSNSN

Sam shifted on the leather car seat, taking in the unique skyline of Baltimore City, as they traveled the highway, heading north toward Cecil County.

He felt excited, good to be out of the hospital…but still a little scared.

Because he was on his way home…his home and he thought. _What if I don't even recognize my own place?_

He shook his head, because he had to believe that if he were going to get his memory back, it would be at a familiar place, amongst his own things.

_Right?_

Lanna gave him a sideway glance, but then returned her gaze to the highway ahead.

She had come to pick him up that morning, awkwardly introduced herself and even though he hadn't recognized her, she felt familiar, comfortable.

She was slim and petite, her hair fiery red and a personality to match.

She took charge and he was grateful.

She asked questions of Dr. Morgan on his behalf, made his follow up appointments and informed him she had spoken with a neurologist at Hopkins.

He felt emotion welling up as they left the Psych wing and make their way out to her classic, black, Impala and he wondered if he was always this…sensitive or was he somehow different from the self he couldn't remember?

"So…" she briefly looked his way again. "I ah…well, I guess I should tell you a little about me and you…I mean…I think you need to know a little about me so you're comfortable talking with me."

He nodded, because he did want to know about her and how they met and if they were, you know…dating or something?

"So anyway, you and me, we were in a class together. At the community college, a night class on modern art." She waited to see if he wanted to speak, but when he didn't she went on, "you told me you like learning new things, so do I…we sorta hit it off. I saw your portfolio and you had some still life's and that's when I found out you're a photographer by trade and a part time artist."

A tunnel was coming up and she pulled into the left lane, grabbing a couple of dollars to hand to the attendant. After puling through the toll she continued, "anyway, that was a few weeks ago. I was telling you about my mom's sixtieth birthday party coming up, I wanted to hire you, but my phone bonked out so I gave you my home phone, wrote on a piece a paper for you."

Sam didn't remember any of that, but he was interested in what else she might know about him, so he started out with asking about them. "Are we…I mean…"

She changed lanes again, then said, "no, I mean…we haven't known each other very long and I think…I think you have a girlfriend, or maybe…maybe you had just broken up, you didn't really say much about her."

"Oh…" he tried to process that new information. So he did have or had someone that should have missed him. Maybe if they had broken up, she didn't live close enough to notice his absence.

"I guess…" she started, "we might find out more about her at your house…I mean, I've only been there once. We had coffee while you went over your contract for the job, but maybe you have a photo album…a contact book…something like that."

He nodded, not feeling too sure. While he was in the hospital, no one reported him missing. Did he not have a family, friends that would realize he was gone?

They rode in silence for a bit and then he asked, "did I…did I tell you about my family?"

She shook her head, "but I got the impression you're not from around here," she laughed, "mind if I turn on some tunes?" she asked, turning on the radio, popping in an old cassette tape, blaring Mullet Rock.

"Lynyrd Skynyrd, really?"

"Hey, you remember something?" Her smile was genuine, bright and sunny and he felt bad while he shook his head, like maybe he was letting her down somehow.

"No…it's hard to explain, but some things I just know…like I know what fire works are, but I don't remember ever seeing them…"

"Well," she said, "We're just gonna have too rectify that. The 4th is this weekend and the display that Havre de Grace puts on is one of the best in the state."

"Are you asking me on a date?" and he didn't know why he said it, but he couldn't pull the words back in, so…

"How about, I agree to be your…guide. I'll help you as much as I can to find out about who you are and in exchange, we'll meet for coffee and I don't know, hang out when you want and we'll see where it goes?"

"Okay…but can we find something else to listen too…please?"

"Hey, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

He laughed and for the first time in…well, he didn't know when, it felt right…he felt right.

About thirty minutes into the drive, she took the exit that said Historic Havre de Grace and he knew that the area was considered for the nations capitol, alone with Philly and it was frustrating, strange…but since there wasn't much he could do, he decided not to worry about it, which made him wonder again if that had always been his attitude.

Was he a laid back sorta guy or was his life since waking on the bus a totally new him?

They passed through a small town, crossing over an old bridge before another long stretch of road lead to a little town called North East.

That's where he lived…or so he was told.

He sat up a little more in his seat, looking at the buildings and houses along the highway, looking for something, anything familiar.

There was a Wal Mart and a McDonalds on the corner of the highway, but once they pulled off the main road it was like going back in time. The town was rural and quiet, antique store fronts and shops lined the two-way street, a few small restaurants, a post office and a Methodist church made up the rest and after stopping at the one stop light, they were on an open road again.

A few miles up, Lanna pulled onto a long drive, lined with old fashion lamp posts and pointy manicured bushes. The house came into view, and if Sam didn't already know it was his home, he wouldn't have guessed it was a place he might stay. It wasn't the house from his dreams and that disappointed him, because he thought for sure that there was a memory buried in there somewhere.

She pulled in behind a blue pick up as he studied the place. It was a rancher, wooden beams, cabin like, surrounded by trees and no neighbors for miles and miles. "Is that mine," he asked, looking at the pick up that wasn't any more familiar then the house.

"Old blue…you don't drive her much…I think you take public transit if you can…I know the train picks up not far from here and you can ride it into the city…"

That might explain how he had gotten on the bus. Later, when he had some time to himself, he would look up the train schedule and lines.

They got out and Lanna took the lead, walking up a stone path to the front porch and then to the front door. The old storm door screeched when she pulled it open, but she just waited patiently until he remembered it was suppose to be his house, so he pulled the keys he had found in his backpack and one fit in the lock.

He carefully turned the tumbler, pushing the wooden door in. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the house was…nice. The front room was cozy, wooden wainscoting up half the wall, painted a rustic orange, the furniture and décor masculine.

He dropped his pack by the door, putting the keys in the little wicker bowl he found near the entry way.

He wanted to look around, but he felt like that would be intruding some how, but Lanna encouraged him. "I'm going to put the pot on for coffee, see if you have anything to eat, throw out anything that went bad and we can hit the local grocery a little later. That way I can show you around town and in the meantime you can snoop through your own stuff."

She went toward the back of the house and through a swinging door, following her he saw a plain, but well kept kitchen. The appliances seemed old, but they matched the feel of the house and there was a sliding glass door. He pulled the blind to see a large back deck that led down to a yard surrounded by trees, a whole forest full.

He pulled the door and stepped out, breathing in the clean air, but he had no memory of sitting on the deck chairs and drinking his morning coffee or cooking on the charcoal grill.

On his way back in he heard the unmistakable sound of a slow moving train and turned to Lanna.

"You get used to it," she said from the depths of the fridge. "It runs a couple times a day and when I was here you told me it was all apart of the charm of this place."

He had to take her word for it, but didn't know how he was going to sleep with a train plowing through, blowing its whistle all hours of the night.

Through the kitchen he saw a little dining room, an old oak table and matching chairs and a half empty coffee cup by a folded paper. He picked up the cup, intending to dump it and put it in the sink, but the paper caught his eye. The entertainment section had a featured article on a new exhibit at the Walter's Art gallery and it was dated for the day Sam came to himself on that bus.

He carried the paper along with the mug to the kitchen, but Lanna wasn't there. He dumped the mug and rinsed it, leaving it there to deal with later. He found her down the hall and in the first room on the left, a study or office, he guessed, because there was a desk and a small work area and she was going through the drawers.

"I thought I could find an address book or something," and she went back to her search.

He nodded, moving down the hall and finding a bathroom and two bedrooms. One had an unmade bed and dresser, a small tv and a closet full of clothes that looked like they would fit him. The other seemed to be a studio of sorts. He found an easel and paints, a drafting desk with some drawing paper and pencils and a few cameras sitting on a shelf.

"Hey."

He jumped, heart racing, startled, like he had gotten caught snooping through someone else's stuff.

"I'm gonna go check your mail box…be right back."

"Kay," he said as she turned on her heels. He waited for the front door to snick close then went to his bedroom.

Opening some drawers, not knowing what he was looking for, he found jeans and shirts, underclothes, and then some framed photos on the night stand caught his eye.

It was the house from his dreams, the tree and the man and woman holding a baby, but the little boy was missing. He picked it up, turning it over and opening the back, but the photo didn't have any information written on it.

Putting the frame back together and placing it back in the same spot he saw another framed photo, this one was of him and a beautiful blond. His arms were hugging her to his chest and her hands were resting on his arms. She had her head canted back; looking at him in what he thought must have been love and he didn't know how to explain what he was feeling, but his heart beat steady in his chest and his fingers trembled as he opened the frame and flipped the photo to see neat handwriting labeling the picture with the date of Nov, 2005 and the subjects as Sam and Tess.

The front door slammed and Lanna called his name, "Sam? I've got tones of mail and you have a few postcards…" he could hear her light foot steps coming down the hall as he put the frame back together. "There from your girlfriend, she's in Spain and her name is,"

"Tess," they said together as Lanna reached the doorway to his room and he couldn't help but feel a little hope. She nodded, handing him his mail, the postcards on top and he carefully turned the first one over, reading the flowery script that matched the writing on the photo he had found.

She was off visiting family and she had missed him…she was coming home in two weeks and was looking forward to seeing him.

She knew him.

Sam did have someone that loved him after all.

SNSNSN


	9. In the Beginning

Sam fidgeted in the uncomfortable seat, sinking down and then straightening in the chair, jumping a little when Lanna smacked him on the thigh.

"Would you hold still…it's gonna be fine."

He nodded, because she was right.

He didn't need to be nervous.

They were waiting at the customs lounge, outside the international flight terminal, at the airport in Philadelphia, for Tess.

The week before Sam had been lying on the couch, watching some cheesy movie on the Lifetime channel, trying to take a nap, because he had been having trouble sleeping in his own room, in his own bed.

Most nights, whenever he closed his eyes, strange images, sometime faces, sometimes places, sometimes the figure in shadow would wake him from a restless sleep and he would get up and go to the living room, turn on the tv and try not to think about what his mind was trying to tell him, what he was trying to remember, because each time he tried to focus on the images, all he would get was a pounding headache for his troubles.

This time, when he had woken in a sweat, fire dancing behind his closed eye lids, he had given up on sleeping, snagged a beer from the fridge and slumped on his sofa, channel surfing till something caught his eye. Lifetime was having a Melissa Gilbert marathon and Sam knew she used to be on Little House on the Prairie, but he didn't know what the show had been about and tried not to get frustrated by his strange new existence.

At one point he had shoved his hand under a pillow and then down between the two cushions and felt a cool, smooth, object. Extracting his hand, he realized he was holding a cell phone, a dead cell phone, so he found the charger in his study and plugged it in, charging it just long enough to be able to turn it on and look at the contact list of people he should know and among them was a number for Tess.

Since getting the post cards from Spain a week earlier, he had read and reread them, badly wanted to get in contact, talk with Tess before she was scheduled to arrive home in a few weeks, but he couldn't find an address book or even a word document on his computer with contact information, so he was relieved and a little scared…he could admit that to himself…to find his phone.

That night he had scrolled through the phone, wondering who the other people on his contact list were to him…friends…clients…but he couldn't dial any of the numbers.

What would he had said to whoever answered.

_Hello, it's Sam. You know me, I guess, but I can't remember you._

No, he needed to wait until someone who knew him better could help slot the puzzle pieces of his life back together…which brought him to Tess.

But the thought of making that call scared the shit out of him too.

It had seemed that they were still together, even though Lanna wasn't too sure…and why was that? Was he unfaithful, was he the kinda guy that wanted a girl on the side?

He didn't think so.

But then why had he not told Lanna anything about Tess?

Maybe he was just a very private person?

His house was in the boonies and miles away from other neighbors…maybe he was some sort of recluse?

Or eccentric…artsy?

"You're thinking to hard," Lanna told him, pounding her fist on his thigh again, shaking him out of his own head.

She had showed up the next morning with fresh coffee and hot donuts from a local joint and when he had told her about the phone, she insisted that he call.

She told him if anyone could answer his questions, it would be Tess, so together they made the call.

Looking to his friend now, he couldn't imagine what he would have done without her. If it weren't for Lanna, he would still be locked up in the loony bin and no one would know he was there…at least not until a month later when Tess had gotten home to discover he was missing and a lot could happen in a month.

For instance, even though he couldn't remember who he was, he had a good idea of who he was now and Lanna was a big part of his world and he worried what would happen when Tess finally did get home.

After all, Lanna was the one who had showed him around his own town, took him to the market to stock his fridge, guessing what he might like to eat and Lanna had helped him go through boxes and drawers full of stuff, like bank books and legal papers and mail that didn't seem like they were his own things, but were.

Lanna had taken him to her mom's BBQ that first weekend, where he felt comfortable for the first time, being around her family, her mom, putting a face to the voice he had heard on the phone while he was still in the hospital. And later, after stuffing himself with grilled hamburgers and potato salad, they all piled into Old Blue and went to see the fire works from the promenade in Havre de Grace. And when he saw the first burst of color streak the night sky, it was like nothing he could imagine, the powerful booms followed by fiery beauty, like nothing he had ever experienced before, because to him, this new him, it was the very first time.

And Lanna was the one who had taken him to the local dives, bought him fruity, girlie drinks and explained to everyone who nodded to him in acknowledgement that Sam couldn't remember them, but would be happy to get reacquainted.

And Lanna…Lanna was the one who had discovered his parents death certificates, stuffed into a box with some old and worn photos, the man and woman from the picture on his nightstand and in his dreams, wearing matching Christmas sweaters with a little, cubby, black haired boy perched on their laps. The same boy splashing in a little blow up pool or playing ball or riding a bike, all his childhood and then a photo of them with their arms around his shoulders, in a blue cap and gown, a diploma clutched in his hands.

Also tucked in the box was a newspaper clipping, telling of the fiery car crash that had killed them ten years before, on the back roads in, Furnace in Borrow, in the UK and it was Lanna who took the items from his hands, placed them reverently back in the box and pulled him into a bone crushing hug, helping him mourn for a family he couldn't remember.

When that first call to Tess had connected and she said iSam/i with clear affection, his stomach had twisted and it was Lanna who took the cell phone from his hands and explained what had happened to him.

Tess had wanted to come right home, but Sam bulked at the idea for some reason.

He didn't want her to cut her trip short for him, because…well, because to him, she was a stranger and he thought that if she was spending time with her family, then he shouldn't intrude.

They had spoken for a while, and Tess agreed to stay, if he called her every night and when she arrived home, Sam would pick her up at the airport and so he agreed, warming to the tone of her voice and her soft words of reassurance and encouragement.

So that's why he was here, restless in his seat, reading and rereading the parts of the constitution, artfully displayed on the walls of the terminal and people watching, because despite not needing to be, he was nervous.

The airport was bustling with people, business commuters, families returning from vacations, people waiting for loved ones, all milling around the waiting area and he could see people on the other side of a glass wall, waiting to get through customs after picking up their suitcases and he wonder which one was Tess.

Would he feel a spark of recognition, would he know by the way she looked or walked or talked that she was the person he had been dating for the last five years?

A group of people, dragging bags and carrying canoes, exited the double doors from customs, talking and laughing loudly and then a smaller group, older men and women, meeting a driver holding a sign with something printed on it.

Each time the door opened, he would perk up, looking at the people passing through and wondering if one of them was Tess.

It seemed like hours, but the emerging passengers dwindled, so he settled back into his seat again, fidgeting to get comfortable, half expecting another slug from Lanna when a shadow fell across his lap and he looked up to see the most beautiful woman, golden blond hair, striking blue eyes and a smile that he just knew was for him.

"Sam?"

And he stood, because this had to be Tess.

She reached for him, pulling him in for a hug so tight he could hardly breathe, or maybe he couldn't breathe for another reason.

"Tess?" he asked, feeling slightly shy and really stupid…who else could it be?

"Hey, baby…I missed you," and she planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

Then she and Lanna were talking, but Sam didn't know about what.

He reached up a shaky hand to touch his mouth where she had kissed him and he wondered if this was what love felt like.

"Earth to Sam." Lanna snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times, until he looked to her and she said, "right…so are we ready to go?"

He nodded, reaching for Tess' suitcase and she took his other hand, leaning in close.

Somehow he managed not to make a complete jackass out of himself, even though Lanna had been shooting him weird looks and rolling her eyes at him all the way home.

"So," she said when they finally pulled up to the house. "I guess you'll call if you need anything?"

He nodded, slipping out and kissing her on the cheek, "thanks…for everything."

She passed him his keys, patting his hand. "Have fun," she whispered, smirking, making kissy faces as Tess pulled her own bag from the back of the truck. "And, seriously, call me later."

"I will…geez," and then he grabbed Tess' bag and her and Lanna hugged liked they had known each other for years, laughing about what, Sam didn't know, but he was smiling and felt…happy, so he let them stand and chat as he went to unlock the door.

Lanna waved as she pulled out and Tess walked into the house and to the kitchen. tossing off her shoes as she went, stretching and cracking her back, before rooting through the fridge like she had belonged here and then Sam realized, that was because she had.

He thought it would be strange, awkward to finally meet her, but it wasn't.

"You want a beer?" she asked, pulling out two and he nodded, following her to the back deck and sitting in one of the chairs that faced the woods. The night was humid and the crickets and frogs were already warming up for a night of song and he relaxed, because this felt right…finally he felt right.

And over the next few months, things just kept getting better and better.

TBC


	10. Second Coming

The dreams started up again in the early fall.

But now, instead of driving on an endless road and pulling over out of the rain, spotting a vestige of someone he felt he should know in the distant shadows, Sam would dream of blood and death and fear.

An unknown presence that would devour him whole if he couldn't cower and hide, try to evade.

He would wake, drenched in sweat, thinking he was covered in sticky, hot blood until Tess would grab his arm, shake his shoulder, talk him down from his night terrors.

Tonight was no different and when he bolted up in their bed, she was there, hushing his confused babbling, running her cool hands over his heated skin, speaking soothing words until he finally realized he was home with her.

"That's it, baby…calm down…deep breaths."

He nodded, trying to reign in his out of control emotions, trying to push back the images of destruction his brain had conjured up and he wondered again…what the hell had happened to him? Why was he like this? What had he done and seen in his past for his mind to completely shut down and refuse to remember?

And he was scared.

Obviously something horrible had happened to him.

All these months later, appointment after appointment, finding no real physical reason for his amnesia, he started seeing a psychologist, who was sure that Sam was repressing something, but he and the doctor where unable to unearth any actual memories from his disjointed nightmares.

"You want a drink," Tess asked and he nodded, because his throat was utterly dry and he couldn't even work up enough spit to answer her in words.

He felt the bed shift and heard her feet padding across the bedroom to the adjoining bath. He kept a glass there, and most nights Tess would go and get him a drink.

When she returned, perching on the edge of the bed, he took the glass from her in his trembling hands and managed to get a sip in to his parched mouth. She kept rubbing his back, his arm, until the glass was drained and he handed it back to her.

She sat the glass aside and crawled over him, pressing him back into his pillows. "That was a bad one, babe…want to talk about it?"

Her face hovered over his, her lips mere inches from his own and he could feel her soft and curvy body pressing down the length of his.

She kept stroking his arms, his chest, encouraging him to speak, but he shook his head, the fiery images already fading.

"Just the same…vague whatever…" and it was frustrating trying to explain the fear and certainty that something evil lurked within him, but he couldn't ever see what had dogged him through his nightmares.

Sometimes he would see a woman, burning on a ceiling and sometimes it would be a movie monster, a vampire or zombie, but mostly he couldn't make sense of what his brain was trying to tell him.

"Lets think happier thoughts then," she said, leaning in to brush her lips over his, her hand skittering down his chest, tweaking a nipple on the way down to swirl around his belly button.

He relaxed into the pillow, the last of his dream fading as she grabbed him, squeezing his length.

The first time they…well not the first time, because he knew they had had sex, made love before, he just couldn't remember what it had felt like and Tess was gentle with him, let him rediscover what he liked and what he didn't. Let him explore her body, finding all those spots that turned her on all over again.

They spent the next little bit of time just touching and kissing, pressing their bodies close and Sam craved the closeness, the physical pleasure, sure, but the emotional closeness even more.

Later, she rolled them over and he slipped inside of her, pressing his pelvis forward, going deeper and gently rubbing at that spot, movements slow but firm and he loved to hear the noises of pleasure that fell from her lips.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, only that she had raised her legs and wrapped them around him, pulling him in deeper still, the press and movement more frantic until they both found their release.

When he pulled out, she followed him over, kissing his chest, running her fingers through his messy hair. "I love you, babe…it'll get better."

And he prayed she was right.

He must have drifted off to sleep, because when he next opened his eyes, the sun was streaming in the windows and Tess was gone.

He rolled out of bed, went to the bathroom to use the toilet and brush his teeth, comb his hair.

He found Tess in the kitchen, putting cookie batter onto a cookie sheet. "Hey, you're awake…want some coffee, something to eat?"

He sank into the chair at the kitchen table, yawning and she laughed, moving in for a quick peck to his cheek. "Coffee it is," and she poured him a cup and sat it in front of him. He sipped as he watched her puttering around the kitchen, scrambling him eggs even though the clock over the counter told him it was well past noon.

"I picked up our costumes, I'm Watson, you're Sherlock." she told him, putting bread into the toaster. "Lanna said to be there by five…but the real party won't start until after dark."

He had a sudden flash of Tess dressed as a naughty nurse, but he pushed it aside, because he always had those niggling feelings, like maybe he had done whatever it was before and the truth was, he probably had. They had been together for years and he guessed that some past Halloween, she had dressed that way.

Later, when they left the house, the air was cool and crisp and it hit him all over again that this was his first autumn, the first time he had seen the leaves change color and fall, his first time raking them into piles and he and Tess jumping in them like a bunch of first graders.

The party was fun, he had made new friends and reacquainted himself with old ones and he didn't feel so alone anymore.

His life was still strange, weird, but also a little exciting too.

He and Tess would go out with Lanna and her new boyfriend, or in a group. Tess liked to cook and Sam found that he wasn't too shabby when it came to making dinner either.

Later, right before Thanksgiving, Tess had decided it would be a great idea to host dinner.

Sam wasn't so sure.

They had had couples over before, but this wasn't as simple as boiling some pasta and opening a jar of pre-made sauce.

Lanna and Zack were the first to arrive, and Tess had put them to work, peeling potatoes. They all sat at the kitchen table, talking and laughing and Sam was a little shocked to discover that he could chop carrots and celery like a professional chef, the knife help firmly in his hand, the chopping motion sounding like machine gun fire.

"Whoa there, babe…we don't want finger tips in the stuffing."

But he was so impressed with his new found skill; he chopped the whole bag, the feel of the knife familiar in his hand.

Bread stuffing done and in the oven, he took in a deep breath, smelling the turkey baking and basting in the stove.

The whole house was full of enticing aromas, turkey and pumpkin spice and sweet potato casserole. Sam wanted to add marshmallows, because he had seen a picture in a magazine, but Tess shot down that idea. "That's just gross, Sam," and then her face softened and she said, "Take my word for it."

So he did, because he trusted her.

Lanna's mom and honorary mom to them all showed up a little later, ready to rescue the dinner if she needed to. "Sam…what's that smell?" she wrinkled her nose and that's when Sam smelt something burning.

He rushed to the stove and pulled open the door, a blast of heat hitting him in the face. He couldn't tell at first what the problem was, but then he saw the pan of stuffing smoking.

He grabbed a pot holder and pulled out the dish, Tess using a dish towel to fan away the smoke.

"Well, not to worry…I can whip up another batch, dear…" and she took over, shooing them all out of the kitchen.

Football played on the TV in the living room and they all settled in to watch. Sam didn't have a team, at least he didn't now, so it didn't matter to him what the outcome was and Zack had patiently explained the rules to him so he could follow the action on the screen.

Soon Ms. Stills was calling them to set the table, so Sam and Tess went to the hutch and pulled out real plates, instead of the paper ones they usually used. They all gathered around as the turkey was carried in and placed at Sam's end of the table.

Tess and Lanna brought out the side dishes and a few bottles of wine and Sam was handed the knife and fork. He had no idea if he had ever carved meat and unlike some past events, he had no vague memory of doing it before.

He took his time, slowly carving slices from the breast and popping and cutting through the bones of the legs and thighs, putting the savory meat on a platter that Tess held for him.

They passed the dishes family style and soon they were all eating and talking, and Sam felt…well, he felt good.

Later, winter was closing in and the trees around his house lost all their foliage. Right before Christmas, the first snow of the season fell and he and Tess rushed out the back door, running across the deck and into the back yard.

Tiny flecks of snow and ice dotted Sam's skin and he turned his face upward. Tess giggled near by, her mouth open and her tongue sticking out. "Try it," she told him, so he did.

Snow was new too and he decided he really liked it and said so out loud.

"Sure," Tess said, grabbing his arm and snuggling close, "We all love it until it's too deep and you have to shovel the walk way and dig out your car."

San thought he might like that…he liked mowing the lawn and Tess thought that was nuts too.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked and he nodded, racing her into the house, hoping the snow wouldn't stop, because he wanted to see what it would be like to make snow angels and fling a snowball at Tess.

They spent the rest of the day drinking tea and hot chocolate, watching Christmas specials on TV.

"Rudolph…" he said, snuggling up to Tess on their sofa. "Let's watch that one."

After a few more Christmas cartoons, Sam went to his office and grabbed one of his cameras. Tess nodded as he headed out the back door and into several inches of snow blanketed yard. He snapped shots of anything that caught his attention, white laden trees, fence posts, and their freshly plowed street.

The back door opened and he look to see Tess standing, her arms wrapped around her body, but she held a ruler in her hand.

He took it from her and pitched it into the deepest mound of white he could find, snapping a picture.

It was already almost four inches deep.

She left him after saying, "don't be too long, babe," and then the door slid shut behind her.

He wandered around a little bit, thinking about the other photos he had taken of the changing seasons, so he could have some comparison pictures.

But after about an hour he was too cold to stay. Tess had a hot plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes waiting for him when he finally came in, kicking snow from the tread of his boots before stepping into the kitchen. He shucked his coat and took the warm mug Tess passed him.

"Have fun," she asked, reaching up, standing on her toes to kiss his cold lips. She backed away fast, but not fast enough, because he grabbed her up and rubbed his freezing nose on her bare arm, listening to her shriek.

"Knock it off, Sam…" she squirmed until she got away and Sam let her. Truth was he was wet and freezing. "Go change, eat dinner and then we'll snuggle." And her eyebrows did that little wiggle thing that he couldn't resist, so he went to their room and peeled off his clothes, finding sweats and a tee, fuzzy socks that Tess had gotten him when the weather turned cold and then went to the kitchen.

Dinner was great, but dessert was even better.

Christmas was a quiet affair. They had gotten up early and opened presents from each other.

Sam got Tess an engraved necklace, her name and the words, S and T forever on the back. He also picked her up and new, semi-sexy nightgown, anything was better then her ratty tee and shorts she usually wore and overly fuzzy slippers, because her feet were always so cold.

She opened her gifts, reaching over to kiss him. "I love it…thanks, Sam." And he couldn't help the goofy grin that split his face…he was ridiculously pleased that she liked what he had gotten her, since she wouldn't tell him what she wanted.

"Your turn, babe," and she handed him two, neatly wrapped presents, the paper red and green, matching bows and he wondered if she had wrapped them herself or if she had cheated like he had, having the sales people do it for him.

He ripped into the first box, enjoying the sounds and smell of the paper before tossing it onto the floor and she laughed at him. He found a new camera, one he had been talking about, the one Zack had recommended after Sam's last job, taking photos for a couple at their outdoor wedding.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, but she told him, "Open the next one."

So he ripped into the paper again, the box was carved from some kind of wood, intricate symbols tooled into the lid and he looked at her, wanting to ask her what the symbols meant.

"Go on," she encouraged, so he lifted the lid to see a beautiful dream catcher.

"It's supposed to promote peaceful sleep…" she trailed off, unsure and Sam appreciated her thoughtfulness.

He ran his fingers over the delicately weaved threads and feathers. "It's beautiful…thank you."

She relaxed then, and he kissed her again. "Did you get this at that little shop in town…the one with all the Indian stuff?"

She nodded, taking the dream catcher and pulling him up from the floor. Their tree lights twinkled and the fresh smell of pine followed them through the house and into their bedroom. Tess hung his gift up on a nail she must have already hammered in and that's when Sam saw she had brought one of her gifts with her too.

They fell into bed together, kissing and touching; each excited to try the new nighty and then maybe later, the dream catcher too.

Winter finally gave way to spring and Sam had a good time taking pictures, journaling his impressions of his new life.

His work had been sporadic, but it would pick up now that the weather was warming and everything around him...the flowers and trees...the wild life all had seemed to be awakening from a long sleep.

Not long after returning home from the hospital, over ten months now, Lanna had found some bank statements and it became clear that Sam really didn't need to work. He didn't know if he had made his own money or if maybe he had inherited his parent's estate, but in the end, it really didn't matter.

He was free to work when he wanted and when he didn't, he could do that too.

Tess usually worked from home, but from time to time she would drive into the city, travel out of town when she needed, but Sam preferred to stay around his little town.

The area was beautiful and he could always find unique places to snap photos and he had been trying to draw and paint more now.

The canvas in front of him was awash in blacks and browns and Sam wasn't sure what he had been trying to paint, but whatever it was it was dark and disturbing.

Putting the brush down, he wiped his hands on an old dish towel and stepped away from his work. It seemed just about every time he tried to conjure up a friendly field, or a peaceful meadow, he would end up with streaky black blobs, ominous figures, and frightening images.

He took the canvas down and stacked it on top of the others, not wanting to think too hard about what was lurking in his thoughts if they expressed themselves in nightmares and dark paintings.

He glanced at his watch.

He had a little over and hour before he was meeting Tess at Crabby Dicks for lunch. She had promised he was going to love Maryland blue crab and he was excited to try them.

He cleaned up pretty quickly, changing into jeans and polo, finding his flip flops. Old Blue fired right up and he found he made it to the restaurant with almost thirty minutes to spare, so he decided to wander Main Street.

He walked passed some antique shops, but stopped into the place that sold Native American blankets and hand carved items, but he didn't see anything like what Tess had gotten him this past Christmas. The older lady behind the counter looked up when he came in and then she stared for a beat or two. He smiled, but that didn't seem to calm her and he watched a little dumbfounded as she skittered around the counter and into a back room, speaking in a language Sam couldn't understand, slamming the door between them, but the intent was clear…Get Out!

He left, not understanding why she seemed…scared of him.

He roamed down the walk, finding himself in front of a gypsy store front and he went inside.

A woman sat at a table, candles burning and she seemed to be speaking to herself, but after a second or two she looked up. "Come in, come in…"

A little spark of…fear niggled at his brain, but he slid into the chair across from her and presented his hand when she reached toward him.

She ran old and crooked fingers across his palm then looked up startled. "This can't be," she said, running cool fingers over his hand again. "Not possible."

"What?" he asked, pulling his hand from her grasp. "What did you see?"

She looked him in the eyes then, question and awe and fear flashing across her withered and wrinkled features. "nothing…I saw nothing."

He pushed back at her words, the old chair toppling to the ground. He didn't know why, but he had to go…somewhere…anywhere but here.

He turned and nearly ran from the store front, kept running until he found himself at the other end of town, a few blocks over from the restaurant he was meeting Tess at. He slowed his pace, taking in a deep breath or two, feeling his heartbeat slow.

He felt silly now that he was away from the creepy old woman.

The restaurant came into sight, so he went in, diverting to the restroom to wash his hands, put some cool water on his heated face.

The place was pretty crowded, but Tess had called ahead, so the hostess showed him to their table.

He asked for a glass of water and when the waitress returned with it, she sat a basket of warm bread on the table too. "I'm waiting for someone," he told her, but I know what we want…two orders of your steamed crab special."

She asked if he wanted fries or corn on the cob, and since he didn't know what Tess might want, he got one of each.

Tess would be there any minute, but while he waited, he munched on a yeast roll, feeling a little self-conscious, like maybe someone was watching him.

He glanced around the tables, taking in the people, but no one seemed to be looking his way, so he went back to his bread. "Chill out, man…" he told himself, but his encounter with the woman in the shop and then the fortune teller was unsettling and he wished Tess would just get here already.

And as if he had conjured her up, she appeared, slipping into the chair across from him. She reached over, using her fingers to wipe something from his lips, a soft smile on her face and Sam could feel himself relax until someone had shouted, "Jess?" across the restaurant.

Tess' eyes grew bigger and then she rolled them, "crap," she murmured and when Sam turned to look, he saw a guy in jeans and flannel, and then another came into view, a tan trench coat on, even though they had seemed to have been eating and when Sam's eyes traveled up, he saw who the man was.

"Doctor Morgan?"

The other man advanced on them and Sam tensed, deciding if he should run or be ready to fight, but he wasn't prepared for the hug he got from this stranger.

"Sam…oh god, Sammy…it's really you."


	11. The Great Home Coming

"Canned chili…yummy…" Dean eyed the steaming bowl Bobby had plopped in front of him, but the older man ignored him, rolling around to his own side of the table and taking a huge bite of his own meal, eyeing Dean, daring him to say more about Bobby's choice for dinner.

He picked up his own spoon, digging in, because even if he liked to give Bobby grief, he was thankful to have a hot dinner to sit down too and while he was feeling so grateful, he was thankful to have Bobby too.

Today was one of his good days.

He had rolled into town the night before, having been hunting… something for over three weeks, following the creature…Bobby could probably pronounce whatever the hell it was, but that's beside the point…he had been on a hunt and had caught up with the…however you say it…after three long weeks and managed to gank it with the herbs and fire torch Bobby's intel had gotten him and then he was free to…well to come home, so he did…to Bobby's, because nowadays, Bobby was his home.

It was still hard…even after all this time, to think about Sam and know, that even though they were still looking for new leads and that even though his brother was never far from Dean's thoughts, Sam was more than likely gone for good.

And that hurt Dean's heart, because in a lot of ways, if Bobby was his home, Sam was his heart.

"So," Bobby started, but took a big bite of his bread and slowly chewed, like he was waiting for Dean to answer the unasked question…like Dean could read Bobby's mind.

And maybe he could, because he found himself answering, "I swung by and saw her…she said that something had changed, but she still couldn't really feel him, whatever that means."

Bobby nodded, but didn't say more.

"Missouri thought that maybe…" and he didn't know how to say it, because he didn't want to offer false hope, for Bobby, but for him too, because Missouri told him that even though she still couldn't feel Sam's soul or whatever it was that she could feel from people, she sensed he was close.

Close, that was it.

She couldn't explain what the feeling had meant and so he couldn't explain what she had said to Bobby.

He was about to try when he heard a familiar voice and Bobby's eyes bugged out and the spoon he had a hold of dropped into the bowl and spilt his chili.

"Jesus, Cas…what did I tell you…"

He turned to look at the angel, ready to give him hell for scaring the shit out of them again when Cas said, "I found him, Dean…I know where Sam is."

His own food forgotten, Dean quickly pushed back from the table, ears ringing, hoping he had heard Cas right. "What did you just say?"

"Sam," Cas said, "I found your brother."

"What?" the room was spinning now too. "What did you say?"

Cas moved closer, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders, to steady him or to shake some sense into him, Dean wasn't really sure which. "I have located your brother and I'm going to take you to him now."

Dean yanked away, not wanting to take a magic ride just yet. He wanted…needed to understand what was happening and get some answers, right now.

"How…I mean what…"

Bobby came around the table then, tapping Dean on the small of his back, "sit down before ya fall down and you," he pointed to Cas, "pull up a damn chair."

Dean sat and so did Cas and Bobby said, "Explain."

So Cas did. He told them he had located Sam, but he glossed over the actual details of how he had managed to track his brother. Dean filed that away for later, because right now he just wanted to know where the hell Sam was and had been for almost a whole year.

"He's in a little town in Maryland…has been there and something…something strong is holding him there."

"You mean he's been held prisoner all this time?" And something heavy and queasy lumped in Dean's gut, images of his brother in a cage and in chains popped into his brain.

"Not prisoner, Dean…Sam's been living… as Sam…"

"What does that mean," Dean demanded. Did Sam choose to leave…could have come back to Dean anytime he wanted and decided not too…maybe Dean had been wrong.

"No," Cas interrupted his downward spiraling thoughts. "Sam is still mostly Sam…he just doesn't know it."

"The hell…" Bobby didn't seem to be understanding the situation any better then Dean.

"He has no memory of his life, his real life. Whatever had taken him had erased his memories, all his memories."

Dean's head jerked up, "So he doesn't know about me? He doesn't know he has a brother."

Bobby shifted in his chair, looking at Cas and then to Dean, "That ain't all he don't know."

And then the light bulb finally flicked on.

If Sam couldn't remember who he was, then he didn't remember any of it, not the monsters or the angels and for sure not the devil…was Sam safe now?

"It's not that simple," Cas stood up, "he's…remembering. I think that's why I was able to find him and if I can find him…"

_So could Lucifer._

"Let's go then," and Bobby rolled toward his office, "Pack a bag, I'll drive the first shift."

Dean nodded, running up the stairs to grab his backpack, "I want to know everything,' he told Cas on his way past. "Even the parts you don't want to tell me," and then he took the steps two at a time.

He yanked some clothes from the small dresser in his room and went to the bathroom to grab his toiletries bag. Before he left he spotted Sam's duffle tucked under the desk and grabbed that too.

He didn't know why, but he thought he may need it.

Bobby had the van fired up by the time he got down the steps and Cas was gone.

"Where'd he go," Dean asked as he slid into the seat, tossing both bags into the back.

Bobby pulled out, using his remote to close the gate that circled his property. "Said he was going to go on ahead, meet us there. You can call him if you want…"

"Nah," Dean shifted in his seat, a bubble of excitement and maybe a little dread curling in his chest. "Cas will keep an eye on him and a few more days won't matter."

He didn't think Bobby believed him, but he nodded anyway, the county road under the tires giving way to the Interstate and they drove on until eventually Bobby pulled over for gas and a quick bite to eat.

When they were finished with their microwaved cheeseburgers and cans of coke, Dean got behind the wheel.

They didn't stop for the night, were making good time and by early afternoon they hit the Maryland state line.

Cas landed in the back seat, but this time Dean managed not to wreck the van. "Whatcha got," he asked.

"I've seen him this morning coming from…well; I'm not sure what it is."

"What the hell does that mean," Dean asked, pulling off the interstate on to the beltway that circled Baltimore city.

"It means, I don't know what it is," and damn if Cas didn't have that look on his face, like maybe he was talking to an imbecile. "He just seemed to have driven from out of a forest, right through a corps of trees and then headed into town. It's there, waiting for him, I think we should go, Dean."

"Pull over," Bobby told him, already fiddling with his seatbelt.

Dean saw the sign for I-95 North and took it, following it until he found a rest area to pull off and shut down the engine. He pulled the arm rest up and found the board Bobby kept tucked between the seats and rested it between the two captain chairs.

Bobby slid over to the driver's seat and started the engine. "I'll meet you there."

But before Dean could tell him okay, Cas had touched his head and he was gone, flying through space and maybe time and landed hard on a side walk in small town USA.

He was woozy and tired, but he shook his head like he could displace those feelings given enough force.

"Let's sit," Cas grabbed his arm and bodily hauled him to a nearby bench.

"Where are we…when are we?" he panted, trying to get his equilibrium back.

"We have not travel through time, Dean." And Cas was sitting too close; he would be in Dean's lap if he were any closer. "We have just traversed a few counties in the state of Maryland."

"Right…traversed…so," he said, trying to straighten up on the bench. "Now what?"

"Lunch," Cas told him, helping him to stand. "At a very strange place called Crabby Dick's."

Dean let himself be led, but bulked a little at the name of the shack in front of him. It was old and run down, a huge red crab with the name Crabby Dick's painted in white block lettering and there were lots of people waiting around in the front.

There was a full patio with picnic tables lined in brown paper, piles of steaming crabs scattered in the middle of each and ears of corn and mounds of fries too.

It must have been a popular lunch spot and Dean thought they might have to wait forever to just get in the front door, but Cas dragged him along, telling the hostess they had a reservation. "Two for Castiel."

She led them to their seats and Dean was secretly pleased that he was positioned to see the other tables, although maybe he was rubbing off a little on the angel, who had made them reservations…

"He should be arriving soon," Cas spoke from across from him but before Dean could answer, a waitress came to take their order. "I would like to try a Crabby Dick, please."

Dean huffed, still feeling a little shell shocked, but the waitress took it in stride and turned to him, "I'll ah…" he hadn't even really looked at the menu, "I'll have the special…and a beer, whatever's on tap."

"Yes, a beer," Cas repeated and she gathered up their menus and returned with two mugs of beer and a basket of heavenly smelling yeast rolls.

"Thanks," he managed, turning to Cas. "So, now talk."

"I really don't know, Dean." Cas picked up the bread and smelled it, before pulling off a small piece and nibbling on it like a squirrel.

"You have to know something…how did you know where to look for Sam if you can't see him anymore…how did you know he would be coming here for lunch…how did you…"

Cas picked up the mug and drained the whole thing in one go, slamming it back to the table. "I still have some connections, Dean. Angels I can trust…"

"You told," he started, his voice carrying over the crowded space, so he looked around to see if anyone was listening and then lowered his voice, "you told other angels to look for Sam? Are you nuts? Angels want Sam just as much as Demons…"

The waitress came with a tray full of steamed crabs, smelling of the ocean and Old Bay seasoning and dumped them on the table between them. She left some mallets and butter knives and a plate of corn and fries. Cas picked one up with just his thumb and first finger, looking at it like it might still be alive enough to pinch him with the front claws. "What is this creature?"

"You're crabby dick, now shut up and eat it." Dean decided that in the end, what did it matter, as long as he got Sam back, he didn't need to worry so much about the why's and how's.

He picked one of the crabs up as the waitress returned to refill Cas' mug. He hadn't had crabs…of any kind…for a long time, but he still remembered how his dad had showed him and Sam to crack them open and pull the meat from all the shelled chambers.

He used his knife to stick between the seam on the underside, flicking the top shell off and scraping all the mess out of the middle. He noted Cas watching and trying to do what Dean had done and couldn't help laughing when the top shell of Cas' crab flew off and hit the wall behind Dean's head.

"Close enough," he told him, watching as Cas used his knife to scrape the innards out onto the newspaper on the table.

Dean cracked the crab in half, but left the legs on, because it was easier to get the meat that way. Once he had a manageable piece, he used his fingers to clean the meat out of the chambers, before moving on to crack the legs. The claw meat was the sweetest and his favorite. When he was younger, his dad would give him the claws to work on, since he got tired of picking the bodies.

Cas had a pile of shells in front of him by the time Dean was done with his half dozen, but Dean wasn't sure how much meat he had actually gotten out of them. "I don't see the purpose of trying to eat the meat out of such a small creature and it is a lot of work for so little reward." He held up a piece of back fin lump on the tip of his finger, sucking it off and making a weird face, like he was trying to decide if he liked it or not.

"Try the corn," Dean told him. "Not as good as a cheese burger, but you might like it.'

Dean used the napkin and then the wet nap the waitress brought to clean the Old Bay and crab guts off his fingers.

Cas grabbed the ear of corn and took a big bite off the end. Dean thought about telling him he should just eat the kernels, but then what fun would that be?

After another huge bite, the angel put the cob down and wiped his fingers on a napkin and that's when Dean spotted him.

It was Sam!

He knew that Cas had told him that Sam was here and that he was coming, but something deep down wasn't willing to believe it until he saw it with his own eyes.

Cas turned to look too, but when Sam glanced around the room they both quickly went back to their lunches. Dean covertly watched as Sam's eyes skittered right over him, no recognition in his brother's eyes.

He was trying to figure out his next move when a woman approached Sam's table and when Dean saw who it was; he couldn't help but ask, "Jess?"

How the hell could Jessica be here?

He looked to Cas as he stood, but the angel didn't offer up an explanation. Before he even realized it, he was out of his seat and walking toward his brother.

"Doctor Morgan?" Sam asked, looking beyond Dean to Cas, but Dean couldn't think about that now, all he could think about was getting to his brother and when he did, he wrapped him in his arms and hung on.

"Sam…oh god, Sammy…it's really you."

Sam froze for a second or two, but then his body relaxed and his brother's arms came up to awkwardly pat Dean on the back.

He hung on for a long time, probably too long, but Dean didn't care.

He had missed him…he had missed Sam and he had him now…he might not ever let go, that was until Sam said, "Um…who are you?"

Dean jerked back, seeing the look of confusion in Sam's eyes, like Dean was clearly someone he should know, but didn't.

"Sammy…I'm Dean…I'm your brother." Dean told him, watching as a look of surprise replaced the confusion for a second or two.

He stepped out of Dean's embrace, looking toward Jess and then Cas. "I don't understand…I don't have a brother…my parents are dead…"

Dean winced on that last part because it was true…their parents where dead.

Sam stepped back, closer to Jessica's side, looking anxious and a little scared and Dean was quickly losing control, not that he really had any to begin with. That thing, whatever it was, that Sam was seeking support in, had stolen his brother.

Dean reached around to the small of his back, feeling the blade tucked there, pulling it, but Cas grabbed his arm and the thing grabbed Sam and the next thing he knew, he was standing in a living room of someone's house.

Sam gasped, backing up toward the far wall, screaming, "What the hell?"

He reached toward him, trying for reassuring, "It's okay Sammy…" but Sam moved toward the couch, putting the coffee table between them and Dean could see the fear in his brother's eyes.

Sam was afraid of him.

"What the hell is happening?" his brother asked, eyes skimming over him and Cas, before looking at Jessica. "Tess…what's going on?"

The thing moved closer, putting a hand on Sam's arm, but Dean could see his brother jump, like he wasn't sure if he could trust whatever it was.

"Sam," Cas said, moving toward him now. "It's okay…we are not here to hurt you."

Sam nodded, looking unsteady on his feet, so he sank down to the cushion and pulled a pillow over his lap, wrapping his arms around it and drawing it closer to his chest and Dean's heart was breaking.

"I don't understand Dr. Morgan…why are you here and who is that really?" Sam asked, looking right at Dean again.

"I m not this doctor Morgan person, Sam…I am an angel and so is that," Cas said, pointing toward Jessica.

"Am I still in the nut house," Sam asked, voice cracking. "That's it, right…I'm bat shit crazy and just figured it out…that's what's happening, right." And Dean couldn't stand to hear the warble in his brother's voice.

"No, Sammy…You're not crazy and I really am your brother and that," he pointed to Cas, "really is an angel, that's why he could transport us here from the restaurant and I don't know who that is," he looked toward the thing wearing Jess' body, "but if Cas says it's an angel, it's an angel, you can trust us."

Sam was shaking his head though; sinking back into the couch like maybe it would open up and swallow him whole. "No, that's not…that's not possible. It's not possible."

Cas spoke, looking toward the thing, "You have to tell him."

Jess rolled her eyes again and then in a blink of an eye she shifted into another image.

"Anna?" Dean asked while his brother yelled, "Lanna!"

"I'm not Lanna, Sam…it's true, I am an angel and I did this to protect you. I know you don't understand, but you were in danger and I needed to stop it, to stop the end from coming."

Sam was shaking his head, jumping back when she stepped closer, "Please, don't be afraid. I don't want to hurt you," and then she rubbed her fingers over Sam's forehead.

"Sam," Dean called when Sam slumped down and onto the couch, out cold.

"He's fine, Dean…or he will be…until Lucifer finds him," and before Dean could answer or scream or attack, Anna disappeared.

With one look toward Cas, he rushed to his brother, checking for a pulse, knowing that it would be there…that if Anna wanted to kill Sam, she wouldn't have set up, whatever this was.

"He'll sleep for a while, Dean." Cas told him. "When he wakes he should remember…maybe not everything, but enough and the rest will come back in time."

Dean nodded, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa to cover his brother. "Did you know about this?" he asked, steal in his voice.

"No, Dean. I did not. Not until today…"

He nodded, getting up from his crouched position. "Okay then…okay. We'll need to get Bobby to meet us and then we'll take Sam home."

"I'll go," Cas offered and was gone before Dean could answer.

The adrenaline and sheer relief of finding his brother was wearing off. He went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water, seeing a mug and the local paper sitting at the small table and it hit him, Sam had been living here for over ten months, with Anna, thinking she was someone else, thinking he was someone else and it pissed Dean off, so instead of drinking the glass of water he flung it against the far wall, watching it shatter and sending water and shards of glass down to the floor, but it didn't seem like enough, so he picked up the chair and tossed it toward the sliding glass door, the door didn't break, but the wooden chair did, so he picked it up again, smashing it over the table again and again until it was only splinters and pulp.

When he was done, he decided he was just tired, so he sank down to the floor and if his eyes were a little wet, so what? There was no one here to see it…not until Sam woke up and when he did, they were gonna get as far away from this place as they could.

Sometime later, outside the wooded area that Sam saw as his home, Cas met with Anna, whose vestige quickly shifted to Jess, Zack, Ms. Stills, Cas, anyone who Sam had seen as real, before settling on his true form, Cas' brother Gabriel.

"They mustn't know the truth," Cas said, watching the slow smile spread across Gabriel's face.

"Hey, don't worry about me, little brother…I won't spill you grand plan and anyway, I had a blast and any chance I can get to screw a Winchester, literally this time, I'll be there." Gabriel patted him awkwardly on the shoulder before vanishing and Cas followed, popping in to Bobby's van that was parked just off Main Street.

He would give Dean and Sam a little more time and then he would take Bobby to them.


	12. The Judgement

Part Twelve: The Judgment

_It was raining..._

_The air was cold on his face..._

_The field where he found himself standing was unnaturally quiet..._

_Sam's eyes moved upward. _

_The sky was darker than dark, pitch-black..._

_Starless..._

_Endless..._

_Luring him...some...power drawling him in..._

_As if at any moment, gravity would cease to exist and he would be helpless but to float up and away... _

_He didn't know how long he stared into the depths of nothingness, time had no power over him in this place, but he managed to pull his eyes from the gaping hole above him._

_Sam shivered in the windless night, soaked as if he had been standing in the down pour for hours._

_He pulled his flimsy jacket closed at the collar, wrapped his arms around his quaking body._

_Then, dream like, he found himself sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, clothes dry now, jacket completely gone, roaring down a foreign, rain-soaked stretch of road._

_The old car's engine vibrated through his hands and forearms, down his torso and legs, all the way to his toes, rumbling deep and familiar._

_The tires silently ghosted over the wet asphalt. _

_The double yellow lines in the center of the road stretched on endlessly, but he wasn't sure of where he was going...from where he had come from, just that he needed to continue...he could feel a compulsion deep in his bones._

_As the tree-lined miles passed, the road never bending or turning, he began to feel claustrophobic...trapped, like a rat in a maze, always moving but never finding an exit, the plaything of something bigger than he, something sinister...something evil._

_The wipers thumped a frantic rhythm against the rain streaked windshield, keeping time with his thunderous heart and as each moment passed, he felt like he was hurtling closer and closer to some unseen force, something full of malice and hatred, something that wished to not only harm him, but to destroy his very being._

_The radio suddenly popped on, one of Dean's cassette tapes cycling, mullet rock blaring out of the old speakers, the turning dial spinning from station to station, but the music was broken by static._

_Panic took root in his gut, gooseflesh ran along his arms and he felt like someone was watching him, something out there in the darkness, so he pressed down hard on the accelerator, but the old Chevy kept a steady speed of eighty-five._

_He pushed on the brakes too, but even with both feet, the car refused to slow._

_Frantic, he let go of the steering wheel, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and tried pulling up on the latch that locked the door, but it wouldn't budge._

_He looked around, heart squeezing wildly in his chest, trying to find something, anything that could help him, anything that would tell him why he was here and not…where was he suppose to be?_

_Am I dreaming..._

_They had been in…Wisconsin?_

_He remembered he and Dean had landed in some shitty motel after torching the bones of a jilted husband and he was…he went out to get them food, but he needed to do something first... _

_Flashes of a young gas station attendant whipped around the inside of his brain, followed by the tangy taste of key lime pie...a bus ride to nowhere...visions of hospital corridors...and a small room that locked from the outside...people he didn't know…_

_Fear gripped him tightly, anxiety bubbled in his belly and sickness worked its way up Sam's throat._

_Up ahead, in the distance, he could make out a faint silvery-blue surge of color in the darkness, as if perhaps lightning had struck something solid and the car began to automatically slow, coming to rest on the side of the road._

_When he opened the door, he found no resistance, was surprised to find that he was stepping down from an old blue pick up truck instead of the Impala._

_The rain abruptly stopped, leaving the driveway he was standing in awash with puddles. _

_The house in front of him was familiar, comforting, but that uneasy feeling flooded back, and Sam knew, it wasn't real...he wasn't safe here..._

_He needed to get away…he needed to find Dean…where was Dean?_

_In his minds eye, he saw them driving together…Dean had brought Sam to this place after…but no, that wasn't right…Anna was with him in the Impala…why was she driving Dean's car?_

_The front door to the house slowly swung inward and a small warm light shown through the opening. _

_He had no recollection of moving, yet he found himself standing in front of the open door._

_Conversations, talking and laughing drew him over the threshold and he stumbled back a step or two when he saw them…people Sam had known and yet...not...not in this setting anyway. _

_Anna and his old college buddy Zack sat on the sofa, watching a football game, but that made no sense...they didn't belong together and he thought that this must surely just be a vivid dream, images and people mixed up in his muddled brain. _

_The couple didn't look up, didn't notice him as he walked through the room and to the back of the house. The kitchen smelt of baking turkey and at the counter he spotted a kindly old woman that use to sometimes watch him while his dad was away on a hunt, but he couldn't remember her name…and there, at the stove, her backed turned to him was Jessica._

_He would recognize her anywhere. _

_She turned, smiling, walking toward him and pulling him in close to her. 'You've made it…I've missed you, baby…' and he held onto her tightly, because she was here with him and he didn't want to let go, not yet...he wanted to be here with Jessica and if this was a dream, then he never wanted to wake again._

_And then, he was suddenly standing back from her, yet he didn't remember moving away. _

_Jessica was still in front of him, warm smile on her face, hands resting in his, but the house around them shuddered and shook, fell away piece by piece, the old lady, the stove with the baking turkey, the food on the counter, the kitchen table and chairs, the walls and then...it was just gone. _

_They were standing in the woods, fall foliage littering the ground and crunching under his shifting feet._

_He felt her watching him, watched him as he looked around, watched as he tried to work out what was happening and then she pulled him in again and said, 'I don't blame you, baby…my death...it wasn't your fault.'_

_He crumbled at her words, his whole body shuddering and he ran his fingers through her golden hair, softly kissed the side of her head._

_'I'm sorry...so so sorry...'_

_She hushed him, ran her hands along the plains of his back and dotted soothing kisses to his neck and then she said, 'I've been looking for you everywhere…but now that I've found you...we can be together forever.'_

_Sam's eyes were still tightly closed, tears slowly leaking from the corners, but he sensed something had changed. _

_The air smelt different, charged with a strange odor...and Jessica's words reminded him of another time, another dream...and the warm body in his arms felt different now, bigger, and stronger and he was afraid to open his eyes._

_His own body was released from the embrace._

'_You can look Sam…I don't want you to be afraid,' and the voice was still soothing, but not Jess'…she wasn't here…she had never been here with him, he knew that now, just as he knew who the voice had belonged to._

'_My brothers have tried to hide you…even my very own creations, but can't you see, Sam…you were made for me…a gift and I plan to use you…'_

_He shook his head, eyes still pressed tight._

_He felt a cool hand, callused and hard stroke his cheek, 'it wasn't my plan, Sam. I didn't want this, but just like you, I have no choice.'_

_Sam yanked away from the caress, falling back a few steps against the rough bark of a tree and his eyes opened and he saw…_

Lucifer.

'_You only need to say yes and we can end this, Sam…you won't have to be afraid anymore…your brother will be safe…even Bobby if that's what you want.' _

_And something deep inside him wanted to give in, to stop running, but then he thought about Jess, the real Jess, his mom and dad and Dean…_

_The sky darkened and the strange silvery light returned, shrouding them in its iridescent glow and Sam watched as the devil moved closer and closer, so close he could reach out and touch Sam again, and as his hand came up to rest on Sam's shoulder, Sam found himself bolting up from a couch in a room he had once thought of as home._

He stumbled off the couch, pillows falling to the floor and when he looked around the room he saw that Dean was tucked into the chair, head canted back in sleep, mouth hanging open and Sam's dream or vision or whatever the hell it had been had not woken his brother.

Sam moved down the hall, not wanting to wake Dean, his heart finally settling to a steadier rhythm, but his stomach felt queasy and sick.

He looked around the rooms and remembered.

His life…or what he had thought to be his life.

The kitchen was a mess, the chair broken down to tiny splinters and he wondered if Dean were responsible.

He found himself moving down the hall, looking in at his studio and the pallet of paintings he had tried to complete, understanding their dark themes now that he had awaken to his real self.

The bedroom bed was unmade and that sick feeling worked its way up his throat at the thought of what he had done there, under the delusion that the body he had made love too was his beloved Jessica.

He just made it to the bathroom, hunching over the toilet, bringing up whatever he had eaten last until there was only dry heaving.

And then he thought, was any of this real...or had he finally gone around the bend?

Maybe he was still back in the hospital…maybe Dean and Bobby and Cas were figments of his own mentally ill psyche and Tess was real...Lanna and Zack and Dr. Morgan... and this world he inhabited now, had just woken too, where the devil was seeking to destroy him, was after his very soul, was the made up musings of a sick mind.

But then Dean was leaning over him, his solid and firm hand resting between his shoulder blades and Sam knew…Dean was real…this was his life.

"Slow breaths, Sammy…that's it. You're okay now…it's gonna be okay."

He let Dean guide him up and press a glass of cool water into his hands.

He took a small drink and swished it around his mouth, spitting it into the sink before sipping the rest.

"I don't know about you, man…but I'm ready to get out of here," and Dean took the glass from his trembling hands, sat it on the counter and led Sam to the front door.

They stepped out of the place he had thought of as home and into the woods.

When Sam turned to look instead of a house he found a single door standing amongst the trees and as he watched, even that disappeared.

"I know,' his brother told him. 'it's messed up…but it was never real, you hear me, Sammy?'

Sam found that he couldn't answer, couldn't get his mouth to move, so he gave a feeble nod and let Dean guide him up a deer path and to a little road. He recognized Bobby's van and the man himself came rolling around from the side and right up to him.

"Come here, boy," and Sam folded over to meet him in a hug, enduring the pounding of affection on his back and when he pulled away he ignored the looks on both his brother and Bobby's faces.

Instead he pulled open the door to the van and crawled in, laying down on the back bench and Dean came in after him, laying an old army surplus blanket over his trembling and huddled form, "I know, Sammy…I know, but it'll get better…I promise, okay…it'll get better."

Sam wished he could believe him, but he knew…whatever his future held, it wouldn't ever be any better.

The two front doors slammed as Bobby settled in the driver's seat and Dean in the seat across from there, but his brother turned in the chair, laying a hand on Sam's head as Bobby pulled away.

He didn't mean to jump at the touch, didn't mean to pull away and he didn't want to see the look of hurt on his brother's face, and so he closed his eyes.

SNSNSNSN

"Damnit, Bobby…where the hell can he be?" Dean glanced out the window and to the back yard of Bobby's house.

"Take it easy, Dean…he just went for a walk…I made sure he had his new cell on him." Bobby puttered around in the kitchen, putting together some ham and cheese sandwiches, pouring milk in some glasses, setting the little kitchen table for four.

Dean didn't want to point out a fat lotta good that did the last time…

But he needed to calm down because this was different.

Sam wasn't missing.

"How's he gonna use the phone anyway…it's been days and he hasn't even said one freaking word…what if…"

It had been three days since they had taken Sam from that other reality and his brother had been withdrawn and skittish ever since, like he expected that Dean would morph into someone else any second, like he couldn't quite believe this existence was real or worse, that the other one was real and Sam was some how stuck in between, unable to tell the two apart and it was killing Dean.

He had tried everything…played their standard tunes on the trip home, stopped at their usual places to eat, trying to show Sam, to prove to him, that this was his life…not that that was a very good thing either, because at least when Sam had been someone else, he was safe…for awhile…safe from the angels and demons and the devil.

Cas said that Sam had started to remember who he was and because of that, the devil could have found him, but Dean was having a hard time wrapping his head around anything Cas had said.

Some things just didn't add up.

Bobby rolled over to the coffee machine, pouring a little something extra in his mid-day coffee while they waited for Sam to return and offered Dean a mug too. "Don't worry, kid…Sam just needs to process this…needs to wrap his head around what's real and what's not…it'll blow over"

Dean sunk into his chair, picking up his cup and blowing on the dark brew a few times before sipping. The solid burn from the liquor additive soothed down his throat and warmed his belly and he tried to believe what Bobby was telling him, but something seemed…well the problem seemed bigger some how, like he didn't know all the facts and that didn't sit well in his gut.

And it wasn't like Cas was willing to help.

Dean hadn't seen him since they had talked to Anna…and what the hell?

Why would Anna decide, on her own, that to protect Sam, she would need to make him into someone else…

Missouri walked into the kitchen, eyeing them both, but she sat in the chair she had claimed as her own and picked up her milk. "He's almost home, Dean…should be coming up the back steps any minute."

Missouri had been here since they had brought Sam home. Was parked on an old worn rocker on Bobby's porch when they had pulled up, but even she couldn't get Sam to tell them what had happened to him and since Anna wouldn't come when Dean summoned her, they were all still in the dark.

They heard booted treads on the wooden risers and then Sam stepped across the porch, stopping before getting to the door.

Dean could hear the springs from the dilapidated swing that was bolted to Bobby's porch frame, could hear the groaning of wood from Sam's weight as he settled in.

He looked toward the opened window again, but Missouri stood, "let me see if I can get him to come in." and then she was through the door and Dean could hear her soft lilt as she spoke to his brother.

More groaning from the swing and then the back door opened again and Sam came in, Missouri close behind him.

His brother folded his frame onto the kitchen chair, looked at his sandwich and milk, picking up the first and pulling at the crusts.

Dean hadn't seen that move since Sammy had been fourteen, upset with their father about some thing or the other.

"I can make you something else, Sam…maybe some soup?" and Bobby pushed back from the table, but Sam reached out and touched the man's arm.

"This is fine…thank you," Sam said, lowering his eyes again, as if he were ashamed of something, as if he were the one that had done something wrong, but Dean was just so damn happy that his brother had spoken.

And then he was at a loss for words.

He wanted to ask Sam so many questions, wanted to know what his brother was thinking, what he was feeling, but his tongue was suddenly thick and clumsy in his mouth and then Sam asked, "do I…do I sound like myself?"

It was a strange question, but Dean was quick to nod his head, reassure Sam that he sounded like he had always sounded, but wondered at the question all the same.

"It's just…that back there,' and then Sam sighed, "I was told I had an accent…told that I was from another country and I could hear myself when I spoke…" he looked like he didn't know how to finish what he wanted to say, but they all waited on him anyway. "I guess after a while, I just didn't notice it anymore and I wondered…"

"Don't worry, Sam," Missouri reached over to take Sam's hand and gave his knuckles a gentle squeeze. "Those memories will fade, over time, like a dream, you'll know they had happened, but it won't seem so real anymore."

Dean wanted to ask how she knew that, but then Missouri shot him a disapproving glance, like she was reading his freakin' mind and she probably was, so he let it go.

"I was thinking," he said, between chews, talking with his mouth full, "maybe we should start looking for a hunt, get back into the swing of things." Because he thought, that maybe going back to something familiar would help Sam forget faster what had happened to him.

Not that Dean wanted to leave Bobby's or the safeness and comfort he had found here, but they all had work to do…the world was coming to a bloody end and if they didn't do anything to stop it, no one else would.

Sam managed to eat half his sandwich, pushing his plate back from him before draining his glass. "I guess that thing I was looking at back in Wisconsin would have drawn another hunter, but I'll check it out."

His brother stood then, making his way to Bobby's study and fired up his laptop.

Dean was wondering what thing Sam was talking about, because he and Bobby couldn't figure it out all that time ago, but what did it matter now...by the time he had joined Sam, perching on the end of Bobby's desk, still nursing his spiked coffee, Sam had found something hinky going on in Florida. People where disappearing and there had been sightings of some sort of scaled creature…it seemed like it could be their kind of thing.

"You don't need to run off," Bobby joined them, reading an article that Sam had printed from the local paper and the sightings. "You don't need to be in a hurry."

Sam stood then, smiling down at their friend slash pseudo father figure and said, "Thanks Bobby, but I've been on a long enough vacation…thanks for…well for everything, I guess."

His brother's eyes traveled to him and then back to Bobby and Bobby nodded, knowing that Sam was thanking him for taking care of Dean.

"You want to head out at first light," Dean offered, because he was torn between getting back to their life and staying and letting Sam heal a little more, but Sam shook his head.

"Nah, lets hit the road."

He followed his brother up the steps and watched as he stopped at the foot of his bed, looking down at the duffle that even after ten months, Dean had never unpacked. The dirty clothed that Sam had been wearing and the ones he had tossed onto the bathroom floor were washed and neatly folded beside the bag and after a second, Sam unzipped the duffle and shoved the clothes in. "Thanks, Dean."

And Dean knew that Sam was thanking him for more then the clean laundry…was thanking him for not giving up, for finding him, for coming to bring Sam home.

_People just don't disappear, Dean…other people just stop looking._

"Anytime, Sammy," and Dean meant it.

The car started right up and Dean popped in a cassette tape, turning the music up as loud as it would go and then drove off, tires spinning.

He looked to Sam and Sam looked back, a shy smile ghosting across his face and Dean knew that when Sam was ready, he would tell him about that other life and until then, Dean would wait, he had gotten really good at waiting.

The End


End file.
